Red Over White
by artistic.frizz
Summary: Elanor was just a librarian, until she heard the cries of a thousand stranded angels. Now she's left under the protection of a too-stiff angel, and the brooding Sam Winchester. His brother is missing, and she's determined to earn her keep - whatever it takes. (Mostly: innocence, friendship, Demon!Dean, SOc. Recap from the angels falling - rush ahead to post-season9.)
1. Chapter 1: Edge of Seventeen

Elanor stood in the mist, her flashlight's battery was waning but it wasn't fear she felt. She stood in awe, watching the sky as thousands of streaks combed downward, flaring up, beautiful and heavenly. And though she was enrapt with the beauty of the descent she couldn't supress the sense of forboding she felt. It wasn't fear, but knowledge, that guided her intuition. She knew something was wrong - for she watched the skies - and she loved the heavens. The next few days were curious, suddenly in her head she was hearing crying and despair and fear and worry. She ran, seeking refuge from the agony in her mind. She was terrified, she continued to run and then suddenly she couldn't anymore. She had lost her mind, she knew. But now she was losing her body, as well. She collapsed on a city street, the sidewalk wet with subtle rain.

Elanor awoke in a hospital bed, eyes wide and terrified. She gasped loudly, ready to press her hands to her ears again and noticed a man directly in front of her. He was tall, with toffee-colored skin and honey-toned eyes, but the more notable thing about his appearance were the rolled locks that fell back from his face and hung against his shoulders. He swallowed hard, and simply continued to stare at her.

"Why are you examining me?" Her eyes were tired and her head hurt - though she couldn't hear the voices anymore. She glanced down at herself, covered in the sheet, and realized more fully that she was in a hospital.

"Nurse! I need a nurse," she croaked, her voice weak. She striggled with the IV but the pain of fidgeting with it stopped her from getting anywhere. ""Help!" she croaked again.

"I will ask for a nurse," he said, stepping from the room. She didn't have the energy to ask him to stay. She didn't understand who he was or why he was there. She rested until the nurse came in, and then it was a whirl of activity. She was kept for observation for three days and then was released, she felt strong enough, but her aunt insisted on picking her up and delivering her home. Her dog was overwhelmed when she came in. She played with her dog, as her aunt caught her up on everything. As she walked her aunt to the door that evening, assuring her that she was fine and not to worry, she caught a glimpse of a man who stood stock still on the other side of the street.

The same man who had been in the room when she'd awoken. She closed the door with a snap, slipping the locks into place and ruffling up her dog. He was still thrilled that she existed, though he was purely obedient to her. She fed him, and ate the food regina had brought for her. She opened the fridge and then immediately closed it. Groceries had begun to spoil. She would deal with that tomorrow.

She showered, and hesitated by the hall mirror looking at herself. She had lost a little bit of weight, but that didn't particularly thrill her. Her hair wasn't much longer, and the length of strawberry blonde was something she liked to play with. She'd kept it short for most of her life, but when she turned twenty-four she'd decided to grow it out. Two years later it was now always somewhere between her shoulders and her waist. She stepped back into the bathroom for her hair scissors and then screamed. She had seen the man on the other side of the window which was just beginning to unfog. She stumbled back, groping for her phone.

"Please, there's someone outside of my house," she stated. The responder handled her kindly, asking for her address and then for her to stay on the line. They came and went without impact. They couldn't find the man she described. She closed her arms around herself and tried to sleep that night - but couldn't. She rose early, before dawn, and went to her usual breakfast spot. She ordered the caramel macchiato she'd come to love, and the honey bagel she was accustomed to. She sat for a few minutes - since her job didn't expect her back quite yet. And then the man entered the store and she bristled. Stiffening, she gripped the taser hidden in her purse.

He didn't speak to her, however, he simply walked in, sat for a few moments near the door, and then left again. She was thoroughly intimidated by him. Confused by his presence and upset by it. She hurried home after that, and when there was a knock on the door Dixie went insane. He barked and growled and continuously attempted to stand between Elanor and the door. She nudged him out of the way, but it was aunt Regina on the other side. She let her in, yet it was just a moment beyond the threshold that Regina grabbed Elanor by the hair and dragged her to the ground. Elanor screamed, kicking out with her legs, struggling against her aunt. Regina struck her once hard across the face - and Elanor's vision wavered. She fought for her consciousness, begging softly. Regina threw her form toward the wall that hosted her television. Elanor slammed into the wall - the impact winded her - and she watched as Regina looked down at the dog who still barked angrily and had attacked her when she held Elanor by the hair.

"No!" Elanor shouted as Regina landed a well aimed kick. She heard the panicked objection of her dog before he lay completely still. "Regina!" she begged. "What are you doing! Stop it! Stop!" Regina rounded on Elanor now, but then the door swung open again. Elanor focused on the man she'd been seeing. She was doubly terrified for a moment. Had he put her closest loved-one up to this?

"Leave the girl alone," he commanded. Regina's eyes hardened - and then turned a gnarly red. Elanor gasped.

"No." She turned her head to glare at him and then reached for Elanor again but before she could do anything he lunged at Regina. She screamed brutally as he attacked her with a shining silver blade. Elanor watched in awe as the slice along her thigh lit up, and then Regina threw back her head, and a noxious fog flew from between her lips. Black - a deep murky charcoal - erupted from her, and flew out of the still-open door. Elanor watched Regina fall to the floor, unconscious, and now bloody. She scrambled to her.

"Regina!" She called. Elanor was shaking. The man with the dreds stood next to them, looking sadly at the dog. Elanor cried, and started to rise for a phone but he stopped her, kneeling next to her aunt he placed his hand on her thigh. Elanor pushed him away at first, terrified that he would attack her again, but he resisted her patiently before touching her again. Her wound closed, the blood flow stopped, and though she remained unconscious, appeared to be completely fine. He left her on the floor and rose to his feet again.

"What's your name?" Elanor asked him, rising to her feet.

"Othniel. What is your name?" She glared at him.

"Elanor," she replied, feeling stubborn and painful and mostly confused. "What just happened?" She reached up to rub her face and felt a dampness - blood. She looked at her bloodied hand in confusion and didn't bother to flinch when Othniel reached for her. With a single finger to her forehead she felt the pain drain away from her. She was left with a calm she hadn't experienced since she'd awoken.

"That was a demon that attacked you," Othniel stated. "It possessed your sister and used her as a vessel."

"But why?"

"I... don't know," he said. "I have felt the need to protect you, however. Something about you calls to me."

"If that was a demon," her head was beginning to spin. "What are you?"

"I am Othniel. I am an angel of the lord."

"So.. a- a guardian angel?" Elanor inquired.

"Come with me," he said. "I feel as though you are in danger." He didn't offer and explanation and didn't seem to be ready for one.

"Come with you?" Elanor jerked away from him as he reached for her hand. He looked at her quizzically. "Where? Why the hell would I do that?"

"It would be safer," he rationalized. "You - and she - would be safer."

"She's coming, too?" She asked, looking down at her aunt, who slept, now peacefully, on the carpet. Regina had children now - even if she'd needed to go... what about the kids?

"No. You. This is why you've been sleeping. I believe God wanted to hide you."

"Hide me? From what?" He didn't answer. Elanor had never been particularly religious. She had attended church with her parents when she was a little girl, but since their death when she was seventeen she hadn't given much thought to God. She'd never cursed him - and... she imagined that he was benevolent, just distant.

"We need to go," he said, turning his head as though he could hear an oncoming threat.

"Prove to me that you're an angel. Show me." She was counting the healing thing in his favor - but she needed more. She needed to know, to make all this craziness believable. And even then she probably wouldn't believe it. He reached for her, gently touching her face. She stiffened, harshly guarded.

"Your happiest moment," he said, "was your twelfth birthday. You went roller skating, and later for icecream. But the memory of that day is you sitting on the porch with your dad, after your friends had all gone home. He talked about how seasons change, and you loved how the falling leaves looked in the light of the street-lamp." She stared at him, her tears starting to gather.

"How -" he didn't allow her to finish the question, or give her a moment of solace with her father's memory. He took her by the wrist and rushed her from her house. She struggled as he ushered her down her walk. "No - wait! I need clothes," she gasped. "If I'm going, I need things."

"We must hurry," he said.

"I can drive, just... I have to take things." She didn't take much. She took down her suede jacket she'd had since she was fifteen, with the tear on the inside of the right cuff - and the band patch she'd used to make an inside pocket. She threw an extra pair of jeans into one of her larger purses, a couple of sweaters and her favorite pair of boots. She didn't think to take her hairbrush. She didn't bother to bring her favorite perfume. She was being hurried by Othniel, and was too overwhelmed to continue to marvel at the oddity. She slid into her reasonable car, and drove away with Othniel in the passenger seat.

Over time he earned her trust, and together they dodged anything Othniel deemed a threat. Often she asked him why he felt the need to protect her - as he explained that the angels had fallen and that there was chaos among them now; how the apocalypse had been rebutted, and that the forces that balanced humanity were out of control. She wondered why he felt the need to be there for her - when his own people were in such peril. She didn't usually hesitate to say as much. Months passed, surviving sparsely, as she worked as a waittress for a couple of weeks at a time, until he decided to move them again. Over time he became more... human. More likeable and friendlier. She taught him how to work as a human - to hold a job. But on occasion when she would become overwhelmed he would disappear for a while, and return with more money than they could immediately need. She never chose to question him. They were in Cincinnati when he became completely still, and her said that Metatron was their new God. She disagreed with him - and as he explained all the waves that an angel could understand, and how only God could have completely taken over "angel radio"... she still disagreed.

She reasoned with him - that maybe this angel could take certain qualities of God - but only God himself could ever be God. He respected her opinions, and settled into staying by her side. A few days later he paused to listen again and he explained to her that she was right - Metatron was a greedy and possessive angel, overtaking and ruining God's name. She asked him how he had learned this and he said that the angel Castiel had revealed his true nature. She confronted him a few days later, demanding answers as to why he had her on the run. When she asked why he didn't know anything definite, she asked him to take her to the angels. He hesitated, telling her of the faction war the angels had been in the midst of for the last year.

"But it's been almost a year, Othniel. I need more than this," she gestured to the hotel they had shifted to. "I need more than dinginess and hunger."

"Are you hungry?" the angel asked. She shook her head.

"That's not the point I'm trying to make. I can't keep moving around like this. I just can't."

"But you help people. You like to do that," he replied. She sighed. It was true, she insisted they help the occasional distressed person. What was the point of having an angel on your shoulder, afterall? Recently Othniel had disbanded three demons who were attempting to terrorize a school. They had to flee quickly - he left dead bodies behind. But none of the children or teachers had been harmed.

"I do," she said. "But... I feel so off. There has to be a reason you protected me from Regina."

"It wasn't Regina."

"Whatever it was." The memory was still painful. She missed her aunt terribly. "There still has to be a reason. Why I awoke as I did - why you were there - why you spirited me away. I can't be hidden forever," she plead. He was quiet. Then he rose to his feet.

"We will go to the angels," he agreed. She didn't bother to tell him he was still very stiff and formal, she shuffled around the room gathering her things. They'd been there for six hours, she'd only had a two-hour nap. Luckily she'd taken the time to teach him to drive, so as he drove she slept. They arrived at a nondescript warehouse, and he walked in without much resistence - they were met by a woman in a gray suit. She gave no information, but greeted Othniel by calling him Brother. They were held, waiting, for almost an hour. But eventually Castiel emerged, flanked by two rather large-bodied angels. He had a charming look, clothed in a simple suit and a pale trench coat. He had fiercely blue eyes, and wore a somber expression. Before that moment Elanor had not wondered about the physical bodies of the angels she saw, but now she wondered vaguely. Did souls, in fact, look human?

"Othniel, it is good to see you again," Castiel said, embracing Othniel. Elanor looked on. "Who is this?"

"Castiel, this is Elanor. A human." Castiel smiled a fleeting greeting - bland - before looking back to Othniel.

"Why, now, have you come, Othniel? Many thought you died in the fall. Many things have happened this past year." Castiel walked them into another room, away from the ears of the other angels. Elanor followed meekly behind. She didn't understand - but she felt nervous here. Watched.

"I have come because Elanor demanded it of me." Castiel glanced at the girl, short in stature, with a round face and large pale rain-blue eyes. "And I had not come before because..." Othniel paused, pondering his answer. Elanor could see a change in his demeanor. His usual frankness over-shot by his sudden lack of rank. "I was afraid, Castiel. I could hear the anger and worry in our brothers and sisters. And I have felt oddly drawn to this human girl since I arrived. Concerned for her safety. Loyal to her needs." Castiel looked on in affected shock, examining Elanor again. She squirmed under his gaze, for he looked at her unabashed. She began to blush, and wonder if she should have worn something more presentable than her gray jeans that were a bit over-worn, and the burgundy shirt she was so fond of. She resisted the urge to readjust her hair, or tug at her top. She looked back at him - meeting his eye dauntlessly. Then she remembered suddenly, forcefully, that he was now the head of the angels. She broke eye contact immediately. He smiled when she glanced back.

"It is nice to meet you, Elanor," he said kindly. She smiled. "Do you know why you feel this way, Othniel?" Othniel shook his head. It was true. They'd been over it several times. But Othniel offered no explanation, as he had none.

"There was a demon," Elanor blurted out.

"Oh?" Castiel prompted, waiting for the rest of the story.

"It didn't seem of particular importance," Othniel said. "We have met several demons this past year."

"Well - if she is being pursued by demons, you probably shouldn't have brought her here," Castiel pondered. "But... I have friends. I trust them, and so should you. I'll call them, and give you directions. They'll help you. But first, Othniel and I must speak privately." Castiel turned, gesturing for Elanor to sit, but for Othniel to follow him. They stepped from the room, and Elanor looked around curiously. She could see through the window that fed onto the work-floor more than sixty angels working in one aspect or another. She watched them, and occasionally one would look up at her curiously, and immediately return to their task. She waited less than ten minutes before Othniel re-entered the room. He held a small hand-drawn but expertly measured and directed map. They drove for a few hours, until a stormy chill was back in the air. The map had a number on it, and Elanor dialed it on her newest prepaid phone but there was no answer. The location they had been directed to was stoicly beautiful. It was a bunker, she realized, as they walked around it, through the brush and trees and rocks - and then to her concern she saw a door left open, a sub-terranian entrance. She inched nearer, glancing back to Othniel who stepped closer to her.

"What do you think happened?" she murmured to him. He didn't answer, instead stepped in ahead of her - she followed, reaching into her coat pocket, gripping the small blade she now carried religiously. They came down a narrow passage and around a corner and found themselves at the top of a utilitarian stair-case, wrapped around a circular room. They stepped down slowly, careful not to make much noise. And then Elanor saw a man, slumped against a wall far on the otherside of a length of tables, she darted past Othniel foolishly, who nearly sighed. The man was quite tall, and sat, his head tilted back, with his legs sprawled out before him, and his arms limp against the floor, she slid to her knees.

"Hey! Hey!" she murmured. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?" HIs eyes were glazed over a bit and she wasn't sure if he could even really see her. "Hey!" She reached out, gripping his shoulder, and the man shot out toward her, gripping her harshly by one arm, the other coming up to her throat. His hair fell into his face as he roared at her. Othniel interceded immediately - though made no move to injure the man. They were well-matched in stature - but Othniel's angelic strength gave him a slight edge that the man's raw rage couldn't quite overcome.

"Wait!" Elanor shouted. "Wait! Stop!" She saw a pistol laying next to where the man had been sitting and she scrambled to it - she aimed it at the men at first, and then shot into the ceiling. It burrowed into concrete, and though now her ears were ringing, the man had turned his attention to her. "Stop!" She screamed.

"Who are you?" the man demanded.

"I'm Elanor. This is Othniel," she replied immediately. Othniel may not have told him their names - but she felt as though something else were happening here. Something that wasn't at all about her presence.

"An angel?" he scoffed.

"Yes. Castiel sent us to you - he said you would be able to help."

"Castiel," the man repeated. He seemed to calm himself slightly. "Of course. Cas. What do you want?"

"He... just said you might help."

"Help with what?" The man seemed short-tempered and agitated. She didn't know how to explain. What to ask for. Othniel took over, the man worked his jaw.

"Castiel has a lot to deal with, since Metatron had been apprehended." The man set his jaw now, clenching his teeth. "I have been with Elanor for a year. Longer than she knows. Since I fell, I have been relentlessly drawn to her. I have been guarding her, watching over her. Expelling demons and keeping her hidden."

"And... why?" the man pressed. Elanor still hadn't asked his name. She wanted to.

"Castiel believes that I might be on a mission for God," Othniel replied. "Castiel told me to tell you that he trusts me."

"What is your name?" Elanor asked, stepping closer to the slowly calming man.

"Sam," he said. He looked at her fully, now. As a person rather than a fleeting threat. He forced a smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure if I can help you right now. I kind of have a lot to deal with at the moment." Elanor glanced at the gun she still held, Sam reached out to take it from her but she hesitated before handing it over. She didn't quite trust his motives. He unloaded it, however - placing the gun and the clip on the table.

"Please, Sam," she began. But it was Othniel who made their case.

"The life I have pulled Elanor into is not agreeing with her. I fear that I'm unable to protect her. Castiel told me that this place was nearly impregnable. While she fears for the family she left behind I fear that it would be unwise to return to her home. Castiel informed me that you haven't responded to any of his attempts to contact you."

"So are you here to check on me?" Othniel didn't answer Sam's question. "Look, I sympathize. But I really - I actually need to go."

"We'll wait here," Othniel said. Sam was becoming irritated. He had left rage, and was entering exasperation.

"I'll clean," Elanor piped up. "And I'll cook if you want me to. And anything else I can help with. I'm a trained and well-educated librarian. I can help with your research." She gestured to the books that lined the walls, and a couple of the tables. "I have medical experience - mostly first aid for children, but still. I'll be useful. And Othniel isn't bothersome." Sam thought, but didn't comment, that they were both already bothersome.

"How are you with computers?" Sam asked with a sigh. Elanor grinned widely.


	2. Chapter 2: The Motion

"I don't know how we're supposed to be able to track a demon, Sam," Elanor stated. She had sweat on her brow, her hair was pulled back in rough pigtails, and her posture was tired. Her paltry IT experience wasn't nearly what she needed to manage the ancient but impressive computer Sam had in his possession. She said as much to him as she worked, following the lines and reading up on these antique computers as much as she could. A tenuous balance was reached, as Othniel started to work in conjunction with Castiel, and Sam became more and more absorbed with seeking out his brother. Elanor hadn't met the man, and Sam never said much - just that he had to find him.

She had gathered that they had had a falling out just before she and Othniel had arrived. She knew that Castiel hadn't known of this disappearance when he sent them. But her work was already clear to her. She would work to keep this Sam person sane while he edged the line, and she would be sure that anything he needed she would provide. She instructed Othniel to ask Castiel about Dean, the brother that Sam was so torn up about, and see what kind of man he was - if he had any patterns she could find.

She and Othniel initially were held at bay by Sam, who tested their flesh with holy water and silver, and a small slice on the arm. Othniel was unhappy with Sam's presumptions, but Elanor took the time to explain to her angelic companion that if this was the rule of the house - they were going to follow it. She wanted desperately to stop running, and if she had to allow Sam to test her skin she was going to do it. She thought of how insane everything was. She sat for dinner on her second fifth night, Othniel standing alongside her as he usually did while she ate. She liked to talk - and be talked to - when sitting for her meal.

"Do you have any idea how to find out what the demons wanted from me?" she asked Othniel around a bite of fish. She was already settling in. Cooking - she always left extra for Sam, and twice so far had brought him a plate to where he sat, engrossed in his research material.

"No."

"I still don't see why we couldn't just use me as bait for a little while. Draw one in - so you can question it." Elanor had suggested this before they'd even come for the angels. She had wanted the whole ordeal to end one way or another.

"I am not willing to risk your safety in an effort to glean knowledge," Othniel repeated. He'd said the same exact thing when she'd first volunteered. "I will not allow you to decide to do so."

"I trust you," she told him, before taking a deep drink from her glass of iced tea. He smiled at her. He had learned when she was complimenting him - usually.

"I am not sure that I could protect you from a horde, or a powerful demon," Othniel told her. "But I appreciate the faith you place in me."

"I mean - I let you kidnap me, didn't I?" She grinned. He was staring at the telescope that was just a few feet behind her. He gazed through the window toward the sky. "Do you miss it?" she asked quietly.

"Miss what?" he asked.

"Heaven." He looked down at her somberly.

"Yes."

"What was it like?"

"Heaven is a myriad of things," Othniel stated. "Every soul gets its own heaven. I frequented one that was a wisteria garden - at dawn. I believe the owner had stayed up all night, and watched the sun slowly illuminate the garden." She smiled.

"That sounds beautiful." Othniel nodded.

"It is."

"What do you miss the most?" she asked. She knew he felt sadness about his loss - but she also knew that the memories he had of peace were dear to him. They made him happy. Serene.

"My wings," he said at first. "The ease of movement is enviable. I often underestimated the strength of humans - but the time contraints humans are bound to is nearly infuriating." She laughed.

"Yeah - I'd miss the flight too, I bet." Sam emerged from the computer room, a large book in his hand. "I left food for you," she called. He looked toward them absently and then said thankyou. She knew he was uncomfortable with their presence - but he didn't seem particularly concerned. Preoccupied more than put-out.

Days passed and a sense of routine had formed.

Sam had given Elanor a room and largely ignored Othniel. And though Othniel had softened throughout their time together, she understood how off-putting he could be. Othniel seemed to have decided to trust Sam, however. He didn't mind leaving Elanor's side while she was under what they assumed was Sam's protection. She spent time in her room, taking the moments before she thought she should cook, or be of use, to arrange her small collection of items. As she learned, however, about demons and other creatures and the history of the angels and God she started a new collection. Tablets of personal notes for all the information she had now, a rosary, and powerful prayers to help repel demons. She hung a scarf a man had given her as a gift during a stint as a waittress behind the lamp that was in the room. It helped to make it homier - as it reflected the lamp-light into a fuchsia hue.

Today, however, she was restless. She left her room much earlier than she usually did - hoping to get a shower before Sam was awake. She was wearing the only nightgown she still owned as she walked barefoot to the showers nearest her room. It was a leisurely thing, she took her time lathering her hair and her skin. She was usually saddened when she had too much time to think - but today she felt positive. Being driven to any purpose was handy, the confusion of the past year had kept her unbalanced and uneasy. Now, she was finally settling. She liked being settled. But she missed her family. She turned the water off, wringing out her hair and watching the last torrents splash to her feet, and reached through the curtain to her towel. The next few minutes were typical, she struggled her wet legs into jeans, slipped on her bra, brushed her teeth, and continued to dry her hair. The mirror was faintly fogged, and she checked her phone for the time. It still wasn't yet seven. When she heard movement in the hall, she wrapped the towel around herself, letting her hair fall lankly to her shoulders again. Sam appeared, holding his own toiletries.

"Sorry," he mumbled, backing awkwardly out of the shower-room.

"I'm almost done. Just give me one second," she called after him. He was gone when she emerged, in a fitted gray henley and her hair still wet. She disappeared into her room again, finishing her morning routine but she never did hear the water turn on again. When she emerged into the main room, where they typically did their research, she found him pouring over a book already. She watched him for a moment. Either he was quite enthralled by what he read - or he was attempting to ignore her.

"I think I'm going to go out today." He glanced at her but didn't comment. "Could you point me in the right direction? The nearest town?"

"Yeah," he grunted.

"And let me know if you need anything?"

"Yeah, here, I'll map it for you," he said, pulling his laptop closer. It wasn't a particularly winding path, and he didn't make any requests. So far she'd had Othniel do the shopping - but she was craving a bit of a break in the monotony. She'd been inside for nearly three weeks. Sam had left a few times, twice overnight, but he always returned the following day. She climbed into the car Othniel had brought her in exchange for her own. He said it was sturdier. She looked at the 1975 Nova in confusion. He brought her some classic muscle car? She liked it. She couldn't deny that. And the deep ruddy purple was quite appealing to her aesthetic sense - but it was just so unlike her. She listened to music as she drove, through a long tunnel that fed onto a service road hidden almost completely by brush and trees.

It wasn't too long of a drive to the town, which proved to be just a suburban minimall. She noted the grocery store as she pulled in, but found herself more drawn to the salon at the end of the strip. Her first errand proved useful, her long strawberry-blonde locks had darkened a bit without the sun to highlight them, but she didn't mind. She liked being ginger, and the nearly-auburn that grew near the base of her skull was aggreeable. She did chop it off, however. It swung neatly around her shoulders when she left, a new set of face-hugging bangs set to sweep around her face. She stopped in the clothing store, as well. Othniel was starting to become a faceless benefactor. He earned money for them somehow, but she didn't ask questions. She walked out with a new dress, new jeans and three new shirts. She was being energized by the sunlight and the shopping. The grocery shopping flew by as well - a chore she had always hated. She called Othniel.

"Hello," he answered.

"Othniel!" she called merrily.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She smiled as she packed the groceries into the car. Just a few bags.

"I'm fine. I got out of the bunker today," she told him.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked. She shrugged, though she knew he couldn't see it. But she felt a bit as though he were chastising her.

"I don't think it's a problem. Sam knows where I am. Besides," she added. "I miss you."

"Do I need to come to you?" She sighed. She knew he had trouble with emotions, but she wanted him to... assimilate.

"No. Any word on Dean? How are the angels?"

"They are all doing well. There have been no angels lost since Metatron was taken. Castiel is very close to Dean Winchester. He is fond of him, and says that if Dean is trying to hide it will be very difficult to locate him."

"Did you ask him about the demon-tracking idea?" she pressed. It was true. She missed Othniel. She missed... talking. Sam was all business - with his obsession; his quest.

"He had no comment."

"What else have you been up to?" It had only been a few days since they'd talked, but she felt strange having private conversations mere feet from her bunker-mate.

"Castiel has me on a specific human case. He says that because I am attached to you, I should have an easier time handling humans."

"That's supremely logical," she said dryly. She didn't add that she was still strongly offput by him on occasion. His people skills weren't his strong suit. He took her comment at face value, as he often did. There was a moment of silence.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine Othniel. I don't know... just lonely, I guess." She looked up at the sky - it had started a beautiful blue, but now was becoming a bit overcast. Dove-gray clouds infiltrated the sky.

"I see."

"Okay, well. I'm about to drive back. Let me know if Castiel says anything useful about Dean."

"Of course," Othniel said.

"Bye." She closed the call quickly, and sighed again. It wasn't a very satisfying pick-me-up. She suddenly wished she had waited until night time. She would have had an excuse to visit a bar if she had. She blinked at the idea. She could buy booze for the house. Sam was always sucking down some overly bitter brown liquor, but she liked girly drinks. She hadn't had straight liquor since college. Around three years, now. She stopped at a gas station and liquor store on the drive back, the last stop on the way out of town. She bought sweet beverages, and another bottle of what she thought Sam drank every day. When she walked back into the house, balancing groceries and booze and her clothes, she didn't see him at his usual work station. She bustled into the kitchen, and put everything away. Leaving the alcohol in the brown bag it had been packed into. She took her clothes back to her room, and changed into her new jeans. They were a little snug - as new jeans typically are. She stretched as she walked, feeling silly.

She stepped past Sam's work station and saw a glimpse of the phrase "Mark of Cain". She read the page of the book he'd left open, but didn't want to linger. What did the mark of cain have to do with tracking demons? She'd assumed that Dean had been kidnapped by demons, and surely if you could pinpoint the demon, there would be a way to find it. She looked at a rough sketch of what looked like the jaw of a horse. But it was based by the handle of a blade. She picked it up, to closer inspect it, as Sam walked back into the workspace.

"Hey, I got you razors," she said quickly, letting the page float back down to the table. "And shaving cream. I didn't know what you preferred, though."

"Razors?"

"You're kind of turning into a wooly mammoth," she stated. "Not that I really care. I just figured you might be forgetting when you have the chance to buy things." He nodded, rubbing a hand absently over the considerable new grown on his chin and along his jawline. "I also got steak. So, how do you like your meat?" she asked.

"Uh. Medium," he commented, he watched her as she left. "Did you change your hair?" She grinned, poking her head back around the corner.

"Yes. Fun, isn't it?" He just nodded.

"Are you okay?" he asked, following her into the kitchen.

"Why?"

"I... I'm just checking," he said. He seemed confused by her behavior. "I don't care if you look at my research. It's not like we're competing." She nodded.

"I know. But you haven't put me on the task of the mark of Cain, or anything like that. I don't want to over-step my boundaries."

"That's why you're acting like this?"

"Like what?" she replied, peeling open the plastic wrapping on the steak.

"Um... erratic?" She stilled a bit, her back to him.

"I'm feeling a little.. weird today," she said. He picked up a small white bottle she'd left on the counter.

"What are these for?" he asked.

"Oh, I get headaches. They've been getting pretty bad, lately, but it's probably just because I'm not outside." He didn't comment, but placed the considerable pain killer back on the counter.

"How are you feeling weird?" he folded his arms over his chest, and leaned against the wall.

"Um," she hesitated. She was never huge on discussing her emotions, but here with a practical stranger she was a bit more shy. She sighed before continuing. "Lonely might be the word. Home-sick, or suffering from cabin fever may also apply."

"You're lonely?" he confirmed. She glanced at him, opening the cabinet she kept their seasonings in.

"Yeah," she replied with a nod and a unilateral shrug. "Anyway, it'll be about an hour before these guys are ready for lunch. If you wanted to catch that shower I deprived you of earlier - now might be the time." He stared at her before nodding. This was the first time she took note of the spectacular green that gaced his eyes. They were a true green - forest - with flecks of a deep blue and a pale brown throughout. He left without another word, though he considered trying to offer her some condolence for her loneliness. He didn't question it, however - merely recognized he'd been ignoring her more than he probably would have under better conditions. He smiled vaguely when he thought of how Dean would handle her presence in the bunker. The constant flirtation. Somehow, he knew she wouldn't have gone for it.

He showered quickly, leaving the gun he carried even inside the bunker with his jeans and belt. He shaved wearing only a towel - but trusted that she would stay out of his way, at least while she was cooking. He stared at himself for a moment, seeing his age for the first time - knowing his obsessive hours were hurting him. He could see the circles under his eyes even now. He thought of Dean, the fact that those black eyes were, in fact, Dean's. He wasn't possessed, or lost. He was a demon. Sam set his jaw, staring at himself. He was going to tell her - and then tell her what the vague theory of his plan was. He moved back to his room to change, his hair dripping over his shoulders. Occasionally he would consider cutting it, and then change his mind.

He emerged to find two hot plates of food on the table. She always gave him larger portions, so he sat at the larger of the two plates. He waited for a moment, a first since she'd arrived, until she came out of the kitchen. She carried an open beer for him, and a bottle of soda for herself. Elanor noticed that he waited. She wasn't sure if she should comment on it or not. She knew she was encroaching - but she hoped, at least, that her presence helped him somehow. She cut her steak, and the juicy slab shined red. He made a face.

"What?" she asked around her first bite.

"Is mine that rare?"

"No. Steak is one of the few things I can cook really well. I would have done better with a grill. Yours is perfectly medium." He checked for himself, slicing the piece straight down the middle.

"This is perfect," he confirmed. "Where did you get this particular talent?"

"My dad taught me on a grill one summer, really the last summer."

"The last summer?" he asked. He didn't quite know what she meant.

"Before he died," she clarified.

"Oh. Sorry," he said on instinct. She waved her hand, reaching for her drink.

"It's been a few years." She thought for a moment. "Nearly a decade."

"You were a teenager?" he asked. She nodded.

"Othniel thinks the manner of their death has something to do with why he's so drawn to me." Sam just watched her, she took it as a cue to explain. "They were killed by one of my classmates." He frowned at her revelation. "Regina moved me out of that town so fast my head spun. But now that I know about demon possession - I think Othniel might be right about it being weird. I mean it's weird anyway. But with that... Jacob stabbed them both twenty times, and afterwards said he had no memory of it. He sobbed when he saw the security footage." She shrugged again.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said.

"I'm still here," she replied.

"Where is your aunt?"

"She's back in Austin. I called her from a payphone a couple of weeks after I disappeared. I told her I was okay. Othniel found me out before I could answer any of her questions. She was possessed and attacked me - that's why Othniel took me away from my home. I..." She tilted her head. "I haven't explained anything to you, have I? Not really." He shook his head. "Um... well, when the angels fell, I was outside with my dog. I'd lost my phone out in the field we'd been playing in - frisbee. And I was there really late looking for it. I saw them. And then I heard them."

"You heard them fall?"

"I heard them as they landed, or after they landed? I'm not sure. It drove me a little insane. Because... it was like they were all talking to me at once. I couldn't get them to be quiet. I thought I had actually lost it - but before I could get any help with the voices in my head, I over-extended myself and I fell into a coma. Just a few weeks. Othniel was there when I awoke. And I didn't have the voices. The next few days were weird, I thought Othniel was stalking me. Which he was - but I thought it was a different kind of stalking." She laughed softly. "But... one day I saw him and it scared me so I went back home. Then my aunt Regina came to my house. She attacked me - or rather a demon used her to attack me. Othniel chased the demon off, I guess it knew he would burn it out if he had to. He took me then. The stupid bastard killed my dog."

"Othniel killed your dog?" Sam asked with a frown.

"No. No, the demon. Dixie had attempted to protect me. Anyway - that's my story. I didn't know until I came here that all of this information was out there," she added, gesturing to the books. "I've spent most of this past year running from point A to point B." He nodded, taking a final bite of the salad she'd put with his steak. She started to eat again. It was silent for a moment, as he finished the steak. Then he spoke again.

"I'm going to give you the truth on why my brother is gone."


	3. Chapter 3: The Tide is High

"I'm going to give you the truth on why my brother is gone," Sam said.

She had stilled, but now merely quirked her eyebrows, her signal for him to continue. "When the angels fell a bit of a civil war started happening. Factions formed, there were a lot of deaths." She nodded - she knew this part. "But also, there was a knight of hell back on the planet. Metatron was so overpowered - and Abaddon was so overpowered... my brother and I had no idea how to handle them. Nothing could kill Abaddon. I have a knife that can kill demons. It didn't kill her. So, my brother took on the mark of Cain, with the guidance and encouragement of the king of hell, Crowley."

"What is the mark of Cain, and why did your brother listen to the king of hell?"

"We might have been a little desperate. But the mark of Cain - and the first blade which is useless without it - changed Dean. He was becoming blood thirsty, though we didn't understand it at first. And by the time I did figure it out, it was too late. And he's good at dodging me when he wants to." Sam looked sad, and she could see now that he had shaved, how gaunt he really looked. Sharp and fierce, like a wolf. He sighed heavily. "The point that I'm getting to, or what you need to know, is that Dean is a demon now." She balked, straightening her posture.

"He's possessed?"

"No. No, he's a demon. The mark, the blood-thirst, the blade. Something changed his soul."

"So... you have to exorcise him?" She was confused. Did Sam intend to kill his brother?

"No. I can save him," he declared. "There's a ritual, similar to an exorcism, that can make a demon human again. I almost did it to Crowley. Dean stopped me, though. Because it would have killed me." Elanor didn't understand. But she wasn't quite sure which question to ask first. "If I can find my brother and trap him, lock him down... I can bring him back. I'm sure of it."

"So this is why we need to find out how to track a demon."

"Or we need a very very powerful summoning spell." Elanor sat back with her drink, having finished her meal, and thought.

"How did Dean get the mark of Cain?"

"He went and found Cain."

"Is Cain still alive?" she asked.

"As far as I know," Sam replied.

"Maybe he can give us a lead. Maybe we should find him, first." Sam nodded.

"I considered that. But I don't know how to find him. He's the father of murder, retired, and very hard to locate." They started a new push with research. A more powerful summoning spell - that could break through wards and banishments was Sam's renewed focus. He hadn't had much luck with the lore on Cain. Elanor was going to give the tracking technology another shot. She sat with a large book and her laptop behind the larger panel in the computer room. They worked until late, she was buried in her task and for the first time since her arrival it was Sam who called it.

"Elanor," he called gruffly. She jumped hard, hitting her head on the edge of the computer. "Sorry."

"No. Whatsup?" she asked, untangling herself from the books and the computer cords.

"I made dinner. It's late."

"What time is it?" she asked. She had been working furiously since lunch and she saw now that it was nearly ten. "It's not that late."

"But you've been working for possibly more than ten hours." She stood, stretching her arms high above her head - so a bit of the pale skin of her stomach peeked from beneath her shirt. He didn't focus on it. "I used the other steak to make a big salad. I don't know if you would want something else."

"That was actually my plan for dinner. I just never got around to it."

"Any luck in there?"

"Well... it would help if I could talk to someone who knew something about it," Elanor said. "But... the good news is I haven't broken anything except my own brain." He gave her a strained smile as they walked back to the main room. Two bowls were full of salad, waiting for them. He hadn't gotten out forks, or drinks. She turned to the kitchen as he sat. She emerged with the drinks she had bought ealier, two cups filled with ice and utensils.

"What's all that?" he asked, staring at the whiskey she had brought out, and the liqueur.

"Well... this morning I was really pumped up to get out of the house. I felt like I needed some fun in my life. And, since I assumed you like to drink - I figured we could drink together."

"I'm not really sure -" Sam began. He didn't want to just tell her no.

"Oh, come on. We're not going to accomplish anything else tonight. Besides, maybe it'll help you sleep. And don't worry because I have an excellent hangover cure." They ate quickly, though in no rush, and then a casual drinking game began. She sat with her legs curled under her, and she had decided she would make him laugh before the night was out. Laughter was always good for a heavy spirit.

"Okay - this one I learned at college," she said, as the card game they were playing became boring.

"You were that kind of student?" he asked.

"I was well-rounded. I graduated fourth in my class, but I went to parties. I think I'm okay. Anyway, I'd love to play drunk-pong right now, but since we don't have that, and I wouldn't want to clean it up anyway, we're going to play never-have-i-ever."

"And the rules are?" Though Sam was drinking more, Elanor was still closer to being drunk than he was. He was scarcely approaching tipsy, she was well on her way.

"Basically, one of use says something the other one probably hasn't done, but you have. Or... no, basically one person says something they haven't done. If the other person has done it - then the other person has to drink." Sam smirked at her. She acknowledged it, counting a point to herself for his gaiety.

"Aren't you going first?" he asked. She was aware of her mistake as soon as the game began.

"Never have I ever..." she paused, letting her eyes wander around the room. "Done bodily harm to myself."

"Your ears aren't pierced?" She laughed aloud.

"Trying to get all technical on me? But actually, no. They're not." He made a face, joking skepticism. He took a drink from his glass. "Your turn," she encouraged.

"Never have I ever... graduated from college." She gasped. He pursed his lips as she took a drink. She was drinking a pre-mixed Long Island which was plenty sweet.

"Never have I ever - oh - been possessed!" she called out, inspiration striking. He tilted his head to her, taking a drink. She leaned toward him, bracing on the table but not saying a word. She was trying to coax a true smile from him.

"Never have I ever played this game before," he stated. She drank merrily this time.

"Never have I ever gotten a tattoo." He drank. "Can I see it?" she asked immediately, his assent in his action. He pulled the neck of his shirt down and she saw the ink - freshly done within the past few months. "How old is it?"

"This time around, not long. But it was removed by Castiel so I had to have it redone. My turn, right? Uh... never have I ever put on make-up." She took her drink.

"Never have I ever been arrested," she stated. He took a drink. "Seriously?" He shrugged.

"Kind of comes with the business, they never keep me, though. Never have I ever worn heels."

"Never? Really? No boots or dress-shoes?"

"Not with heels," he insisted. She took her drink and watched him for a moment.

"Never have I ever done karaoke," she stated. He shrugged. "Darn I was hoping to get you to sing for me." He smirked at her again, gentler this time. He was actually relaxing.

"Never have I ever been ice skating." She just smiled at him. "Worth a shot," he stated.

"I've always wanted to - just never really had the opportunity. And I've lived in hot places most of my life. Oh, I've never left the country." Sam took a healthy swig. The game continued, basic things - and Elanor was getting sillier. She was a friendly, happy drunk who liked to talk and enjoyed the game. They'd gotten to know one another's habits - but now it was time to get to know one's another character. Elanor poured refills for both of them, switching from her long island to her pre-mixed bellini martini. Sam leaned over, tilting a bit of his whiskey into her glass. She made a face.

"Can you even taste anymore?" he asked. She giggled before taking a sip. It was good, peachy and sweet, the burn of the added alcohol was barely noticeable.

"I can. But it's not bad." She pushed the mixture toward him and he took a little drink before returning it to her. "Who's turn was it?" she asked. He nodded toward her, giving her the go-ahead. "Never have I ever been skinny dipping." Sam didn't drink immediately. He seemed to be thinking. She laughed at him. "If you have to think about it - I think it's a yes," she declared.

"Well," he began, but she stifled him with a simple gesture of her hand. He bit the bullet and took the drink. "Never have I ever kissed a man." She took the drink.

"I don't know if the word man is necessarily applicable - but I won't quibble," she stated. "Never have I ever had sex with a woman." He raised his eyebrows.

"So you're implying that you've kissed a woman," he put in before taking his drink. She gave him a small smirk, cutting her eyes to him but looking down. He pressed his lips together with a nod. "Okay. Good to know."

"Why is that good to know?" she squawked. He shrugged.

"Never have I ever danced in the rain," he stated. She seemed to be the type, he thought. Serious in the day time - joyously free at night. She drank.

"You're really missing out," she told him. "Never have I ever..." She paused, thinking. She'd been running out of ideas, her foggy brain made it more difficult. "Never have I ever grown a beard." He drank, resisting the urge to laugh at her.

"Never have I ever gone skiiing." She just stared at him.

"Do I seem that well-balanced?" she asked. Her head was spinning a bit. "Never have I ever been camping." He drank.

"Never have I ever had a pillow fight." She laughed aloud. But didn't drink. "Never?" he asked.

"Nope. Never have I ever had a slumber party," she replied, she didn't expect him to drink. When he did she started to giggle. "What?" He shrugged.

"It was a manly slumber party," he stated. "It was interrupted by a wicked witch."

"Like... from Oz?" she asked hazily.

"Exactly from Oz," he told her. She leaned forward, nearly upsetting her glass.

"Oz is real?!" she demanded. He nodded.

"A lot of things are real."

"Have you fought a lot of things? More than angels and demons, I mean?" she hiccupped lightly. Her energy was draining, she was slurring her words.

"I've fought just about everything in the book," he said. "And some things that wouldn't be in the book."

"What was your favorite?" she asked, settling back into her chair - letting her eyes close for a moment.

"My favorite?"

"Yeah. You know - favorite battle." She labored over the word favorite, carefully pronouncing ever syllable.

"I don't really enjoy the fights," he said. "I don't particularly like killing things." His voice was darkening.

"I didn't mean anything by it," she stated.

"I know. Anyway," he began, finishing his glass. "I think it's time I go to bed."

"Yeah. Me too, actually," she agreed. She straightened in her seat and then stood. And then began to walk. It didn't work out too well for her - she stumbled against the table, gripping the edge. "This room is so spinny." He laughed at her, coming to her aid. Though he wavered slightly as he walked - he wasn't anywhere near as drunk as she seemed to be. He picked her up, keeping her vertical with a hand wrapped around her waist. She walked like she was on a boat for a moment as he guided her toward her bedroom. He stopped in the hall, and she looked up at him, confused.

"Can you make it from here?" he asked softly.

"Of course," she said. She pushed away from him, and attempted to walk a straight line to her bed. She stumbled, landing on her knees and began to laugh.

"Okay," he sighed, stepping into her room, and helping her onto he bed. She struggled with her blanket, he flicked the light off when he left. She slept deeply that night. She had dreams but couldn't remember them when she woke. And when she woke, she was just as hung-over as she had expected. She changed out of the jeans she had slept in - slipping into one of the dresses she bought. It was a soft dusted rose color and accented her waist without effort. She went to the kitchen and saw Sam slumped on the table they usually ate on.

"Are you okay?" she said softly. The response she earned was a thumbs up, though he still hid his face. "Alright. I'll make my cure-all." She cooked eggs and bacon - and mixed tomato juice with orange juice. She brought out the liquid concoction, setting it in front of him as she drank her own.

"What is this?" he grumbled.

"Nothing too fancy - but it will help. After you drink it you can have a headache pill, bacon and eggs are cooking." He drank, wondering what had possessed him the night before. She brought out breakfast, and they ate in relative silence. The hangover day wasn't particularly exciting. She took a nap - he showered twice. But the following day, after returning to her research and putting the computer on the backburner, she found a spell that might be strong enough to pull in an unwilling demon - and to trap him. She ran to Sam, who was working in the archive room.

"Sam! Look at this. Is this what we need?" He read over the spell, many of the ingredients were quite rare - strong and rare. The bone of extinct creatures, blood of some long-lost, and many things that she couldn't imagine finding but he indicated that he had.

"This might work," he stated. They set to work - he called his connections and she called Othniel, who was only a few minutes away from the bunker. She let him arrive - and though she didn't explain to Othniel the true purpose of their mission, she explained the ingredients she needed.

"I would rather focus on what the demons want from you," he stated as she listed their needs.

"But we have no way of getting that information. And if we trap one, we can question him," she replied. After a second she hugged him. He patted her awkwardly on the back. "I do miss you when you're gone." Sam saw the fleeting interaction, and turned away again, dialing another number. Othniel had come to ensure her safety, and bring her small snippets of Dean's character.

"I ask Castiel whenever I see him, about Dean's nature. Castiel assures me that Dean is brave and strong and righteous. He told me that he liked women quite a lot, sex and good food." Elanor nodded. She wasn't sure if she even needed the information anymore - now that Sam was being more open about their purpose. And it was, she knew, their purpose, now. She was driven to redeem his brother. Othniel related an anecdote Castiel had shared - of Dean sacrificing his own soul to save his brother's. Othniel said that Castiel had hinted that this might be a similar situation. It was good to know. Othniel departed before long, with a long list of ingredients they might have needed. The next couple of weeks passed without import. Sam would occasionally leave to go on a hunt - he never invited Elanor, and she didn't invite herself. Othniel would have objected to her involvement in any case.

He returned one morning thoroughly wounded, he had tumbled out of his car and into the garage. She only knew of his presence because of the change in the air - the bunker wasn't stuffy, but it wasn't usually ruled by out temperatures - the sudden intake of outside breath made her hair stand on end. She wandered near to the garage and heard his ragged breathing. She ran to him, and helped him to the main room. He had long gashes across his torso - the attack of some monster or vengeful spirit. She didn't ask, and he probably wouldn't have been able to answer. She bandaged him, but when the threat of infection threw him into a fever she nursed him.

He had nightmares, she knew now. Vicious ones. Twice she'd had to wake him - to calm him - so that he wouldn't open the stitches she'd sewn in. He came out of the fever no worse for wear, but was still largely out of commission for a few days. He emerged from his room, his hand helping to balance himself on the wall, and sat in the arm chair. The designated reading chair. She was having a migraine, but when she took her pain-killers she offered a couple to the wincing Sam.

They sat together for a while, Sam doing internet research - Elanor just trying to quell the pain she was floating in. She'd had headaches for most of her life - but they had definitely gotten worse after the coma. But it wasn't just the headaches that were an issue - it was the aura the migraine brought on. It made her entire body hurt - radiating from her skull. She had fallen into a bit of a cat-nap when she heard Sam moving. She squinted at him, the partially lit bunker still a bit too bright.

"What do you need?" she asked.

"Don't worry about it," Sam told her.

"I can't have you opening the wound again," she said, rising shakily to her feet. "So if I can help - let me."

"So you can pass out? No thanks."

"I'm not going to faint - and my fainting would still be less intrusive than your injuring yourself again." He sat back with a stifled groan. "Are you hungry?" He didn't answer - but she made the assumption. It was later than she usually fed them, and he was in a healing process. She didn't cook - simply brought him a bottle of water, and two sandwiches. She dragged over the tv-tray she'd bought, for extra table space - moving all of the books out of the way first. She glanced at the table after she'd settled him in, and realized it had been days since she'd cleaned. She took two more of her headache pills. The migraine lasted three days and when it finally cleared she celebrated - putting on music so loud that it echoed through the entire bunker. She danced around, cleaning. Sam was trying to work and only once asked her to turn down the noise. She simply lip-sang at him, being silly and bumping her knees to the beat of the music. He couldn't resist - he laughed at her. She went out after most of the chores, leaving him in relative silence. She had mopped the kitchen, and their main work-spaces, dusted all of the book-shelves and the computer, worked at organizing the books they were no longer directly using. She returned a little over an hour later, with fresh groceries and even fresher ice-cream.

"I wasn't sure what you would want," she said. "So I got you a banana split. You can pretend it's healthy, if you want." She took a bite of her large mint-chocolate cone as she set down his treat and the plastic spoon. She continued into the kitchen, unpacking the groceries. He marveled at her recovery when she sat down for dinner with him. She was chipper - and he was healing. He wondered vaguely if she had a mood disorder.

"Why do you act like this?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. You're really calm most of the time - and then sometimes you just get really excited about everything. Almost manic." She laughed a little.

"Well, Sam, most of the time I feel like crap. Days like this - where I'm up and excited and happy - it means I don't have a headache. Because I almost always have a headache. Now, sometimes they're worse, like this last one was, but usually they're just around - being terrible in the background."

"Why do you have headaches?" he asked. She shrugged.

"I kind of always have, I guess. I mean - it got really bad before I went into my coma, but that was because of the angels. They're worse now than before the angels fell... but I can't find a source. Neither could my doctors. I had MRIs done and everything and they never found the cause." Sam watched her as she spoke, and couldn't help but be a little suspicious over her headaches. The only ailments he suffered from were always prompted supernaturally. He would have to figure out how to ask her, or how to find out, if it were related to the interest Othniel had in her.


	4. Chapter 4: Shadows of the Night

Calls were made and money they didn't quite have was thrown around. It was difficult finding - let alone procuring - most of the ingredients the advanced summoning spell required. Elanor didn't voice her preoccupation with whether or not it would even work - but she did work at getting more than the necessary amount. If something went wrong... and they lived - she knew they would have to try it again. They worked tirelessly for a time, but Elanor was becoming restless. She danced as she cooked and cleaned - she sang softly as she read and waited for calls to be answered or returned. She talked to Othniel in passing - neither had much information for the other. She sat with Sam.

"So you've been around angels and stuff, right?" Elanor asked. Sam nodded absently - he had a pen hanging from his lips. "Are they always so... robotic."

"Yes," Sam replied. "Well, no. Actually Metatron was pretty personable but he'd been here forever. And Gabriel was masquerading as a trickster."

"Gabriel? Like... baby brother to Michael?"

"Well I think most of the angels are baby brother to Michael - but yes."

"What's a trickster?"

"Well you've heard of impish gods before - Loki was his trade name." Elanor's eyes widened for a moment.

"Loki is an angel?" She settled back into her chair - slouching but interested. "But most fresh-out-of-the-pearly-gate angels are robots?"

"Kind of, yeah. Castiel, even now, doesn't experience emotions the same way we do. He was even human for a while. I guess grace has something to do with it." Sam paused.

"Wait... Castiel was human? How?"

"The reason the angels fell was a ritual Metatron had convinced Castiel would fix things. The last ingredient was Castiel's grace. He spent months being human. He understands, now," Sam elaborated. "He gets emotion now more than he did - though he's always felt something. But he understands them more. The struggle of being human, I guess."

"They're like... sociopaths," Elanor said. Sam laughed aloud.

"Yeah a little. It's weirder when a demon is brought back to his human senses, though. They're finnicky and emotional. Angels just end up... feeling wounded, I think."

"That makes sense. Because angels probably start out pure - but demons had their shot and now they're back to it. I've been trying to think of a way to find Cain," she added. "I don't think we should summon him or try to trap him. You said Dean told you that he took out an army of demons even without the blade?"

"Yeah. You're right. If we come face to face with Cain - we have to play everything very carefully." Breakfast was simple, and afterwards Sam went for a shower. Elanor stole away to the kitchen - her boredom peaking - she wanted to be creative. Occupied. She scrounged around for flour, and stood over the fruit she had in the house, pondering her options. She sat back at the table, trying to track down long-lost ingredients.

"What smells so sweet," Sam inquired, stepping into the work space. Elanor looked up from her page of notes.

"I'm baking a pie."

"Pie," Sam repeated. He wanted to pretend the smell and the name didn't push his mind toward his brother, rather than the task at hand. His head spun for a moment and he held his breath.

"Yep. I work best when I'm eating cooked fruit," she mumbled. She wasn't focused on him, however, and missed the empty look on his face. "It's apple, by the way." But Sam was still thinking of Dean. He'd never been crazy about sweets - never even really crazy about food. Often he ate for purpose rather than pleasure but Dean enjoyed his food. Something Sam had laughed at over the years, but missed now. His reverie was cut short, however, as Elanor's phone rang. It was a fluting musical sound. But there were only a small handful of people who had her number.

"Elanor," Othniel spoke lowly. Elanor stilled completely.

"Are you okay?" she demanded.

"I'm in danger and I must speak quickly. I have been on a private mission for Castiel - energy spent finding a way to restore his corroding grace. I need you to return information for him if I do not emerge."

"Where are you?" she stood. "We'll come to you."

"No. Stay where you are. You should not be in danger," he implored. "I have left a selection of enochian codes in a lock-box in San Francisco. If I do not contact you again, the code is 78779, it is box 115. I must go." He hung up before she could speak. She scribbled down the numbers and looked up at Sam with her mouth hanging open.

"What's wrong with Castiel's grace?" she demanded. Sam's eyes widened. He had forgotten.

"It's not his. His was stolen, remember. And he took another angel's. For survival, but... it's killing him. Like battery acid in the wrong casing or something." She nodded. "Why? What did Othniel need?"

"That's what he's been working on this whole time," she snapped. Then took the moment to compose her thoughts. "He just told me that he fears for his life so if he doesn't come out of this, I have to deliver his findings to Castiel. I..." She sank back into her seat. She was already fighting tears. "I don't know how to help him. I can't let him die," she stated, gripping the table.

"Where is he?"

"He wouldn't tell me."

"Let me see your phone," Sam said. He took it, going through her online account to activate the phone's tracker.

"He's not even six hours from here. Did he say what he was up against?" Sam asked.

"No," she replied. She moved into the kitchen, flipping off the heat on the probably-done pie.

"Well - go put on something reasonable, and pack a bag. We'd better go." She ran to her bedroom - Sam was always packed to go. She supposed it had to do with his years on the road. She wriggled into her favorite gray jeans, and a dark henley top, slipping into her boots and snagging a scrunchy from her table. She packed a spare set of clothes, slipping her knife into her boots and plucked her newest rosary from the wall. When she re-emerged Sam offered her two things. A flask of what turned out to be holy water, and a pistol. She took them, but looked down at the pistol hesitantly.

"I don't know how to use this," she said.

"Point and shoot," he replied. They slid into the car, and with the internet on his phone Sam was able to follow Othniel's phone-tracker. They didn't speak much on the road, and the radio played softly. They drove into Oklahoma. Into a storm. Rain pelted angrily against the car windows and while it would usually have lulled Elanor into a deep sleep her fears kept her wide awake. She sighed heavily once and Sam glanced over at her.

"Nothing," she answered his silent question.

"How do you want to play this, anyway? Are you going to try to contact him or are we just going to swoop in?"

"I guess we'll just swoop in. If I talk to him he'll tell me to go home. To the bunker," she clarified. "This way we'll just drop in and make sure he's fine." He nodded, making a smooth turn on the slick highway's bend. "Thankyou." She felt awkward with it. He looked over at her, his hair falling against his cheeks. The glimmer from the rain and the glow of the occasional highway lights made the car seem much more intimate than it usually did. Though Elanor wasn't sure if they had ever been in such close quarters. He nodded.

"Of course." She knew it was what he did - helped people who needed help - killed things that needed to be killed. She turned up the radio. The rest of the drive was quiet. A couple of hours later he lowered the volume himself. "We should be close. Pull up the tracker." She worked with his phone, showing him the screen. They slowed to a close. It was a storage unit.

"What do we do?" she asked softly.

"You could sit in the car," he stated. She shook her head.

"No way." He nodded.

"Okay. We have to be prepared for anything. We don't know what we're walking into." He reached into the back seat for his duffel bag, pulling forth a machete and what Elanor recognized as an angel sword. He handed her the angel blade. It felt cold in her hand. It shined magnificently even in the dim light. They stepped out of the car onto the slickening muddy concrete. The large unit was on the outside of Oklahome city, beyond the bright lights but still she could see hints of the skyline through the thick air. Sam led her to a door, testing it before picking the lock. She waited, keeping watch and keeping quiet. He opened the door it squeaked and though the sound seemed horribly intrusive to Elanor, Sam merely stepped in - undaunted by what might have given away their position. She shut it softly behind them her ears and eyes ready and alert. They could hear voices echoing from down the hall. It smelled rather rank. Over-exposure to moisture and truly unkempt. They moved closer to the voices and they listened.

"Come on, you can tell me more than that," a taunting voice said. And then a man screamed. It was Othniel's voice. Elanor jumped, starting to move, but Sam caught her quickly around her waist. He dragged her back.

"No, no, no," Sam whispered, bracing her against the wall. Her eyes were wild. Terrified and angry.

"What're the angels after these days," the voice continued. "I'm told you didn't come back until after Castiel regained power. Why did it take you so long?" Sam switched weapons with Elanor, gripping the angel blade he stepped into view. She was just behind him and saw two demons. Sam moved quickly, surprising the first - impaling him. And jumping on the next before she could escape.

"Are there others?" Sam asked Othniel as Elanor moved to untie him. He was close to unconscious. "Are there others?" Sam demanded. Othniel nodded.

"Three," he mumbled. Sam straightened, looking around for an indication as to where they could have gone. He pulled out a knife - the demon knife - and handed it to Elanor, hilt-first.

"Don't ask questions," he said. "Don't hesitate." He left her to tend to Othniel. But as she tried to coax Othniel into a standing position she heard movement. She turned. A boy stood before her - maybe sixteen. But his eyes were black. Her second of hesitation cost her, he attacked. He caught Elanor by the neck and dragged her to the ground. She squirmed but couldn't scream, as the kid moved to kill her Othniel attacked. He braced his hand against the boy's forehead and with a strangled scream the boys eyes burned out - he dropped onto Elanor, and Othniel lost consciousness. She struggled to get up and suddenly felt an overwhelming pain just below her knee. She winced, stifling her own scream. She pushed at the body, and finally freed herself. She could hear activity not far but whatever injury she had sustained was overwhelming her. She could barely move. And then Sam ran back into the room, his hair flying back. And behind him emerged a man in a roughed-up flannel shirt.

"Sammy don't leave," the man called, a large smile on his face. "Come on, we can talk about this." He didn't notice Elanor and Othniel - maybe he thought they were more dead demons.

"Dean," Sam said. Elanor gasped audibly. Then Dean noticed her. He grinned even wider.

"You're hunting with a girl?" Dean asked, stepping toward Elanor. Sam moved between them, straightening. Dean and Elanor both saw the decision in Sam's figure. It was a challenge - but one Dean didn't seem to want to satisfy. "I told you I wasn't going to kill you. Why do you have to make that difficult? Right, because you make everything difficult." Dean held a blade in his hand - what looked like jaw of an animal. Power and tension flowed from his elbow, strengthening the hand that held the blade - and the fierce black that enveloped his eyes. That is until he flicked them back to what Elanor assumed were their natural green. A warm green, unlike Sam's, with hints of yellow and gold along with the brilliant olive.

"We're just leaving," Sam said.

"What are you scared of me, baby brother? Come on, Sammy. Even with all your flaws you don't usually act the coward." Elanor was shifting again, wrapping her belt around her leg, trying to balance the pressure. Dean crane his neck for a better look at the girl. "She's cute, I'll give you that. She has that thing, though... like she doesn't know what life's about." Dean started to side-step Sam but he mirrored his movements readily. His eyes flicked back to black - irritation. "Never really was my thing." Dean turned his back, snapped his finger, and then disappeared. Suddenly the building began to quake. The roof was falling in. Sam leapt the few feet to where Elanor half-knelt on the floor. She was trying to wake Othniel.

"Shit. Can you walk?" he asked. She grimaced.

"I'll manage," she assured him. It was an overcommitment, she knew. But she didn't think Sam could have carried her and dragged Othniel out. She took to the wall. Sam dragged Othniel's body out before returning for her, however, once he realized she really wasn't moving very well. He scooped her up and she cradled the blades she'd been left with, gripping his shoulder and gnawing on her lip. He slid her into the passenger seat before climbing into the driver's spot. Othniel's limp form was in the back seat.

"Do you need a hospital?" he asked. She wanted to know how he was - having seen his brother. But the pain radiating from her knee was obnoxious.

"I don't know," she replied through gritted teeth. "I don't know what happened to it." He nodded, and pulled into the first motel he found - thirty minutes north-east of the storage unit where Othniel had been held. He ran in to rent the room and then came back for Elanor, and then Othniel. As he slumped the big man's body onto the first bed he glanced at her.

"I'll go get you some ice. Maybe you should call Cas," he added. "And see if this guy can heal up on his own." He left and she saw Othniel's phone, fallen between the two beds. She reached for it and dialed for Castiel.

"Othniel," Castiel answered. She glanced at the clock. It was just after two a.m.

"It's Elanor."

"I'm sorry. I must have mis-read the number," Castiel said.

"No. This is Othniel's phone. He - um - he's hurt. We need to know if he'll heal on his own."

"Was he badly injured?"

"He was tortured," Elanor answered, she felt the hitch in her voice. "They tortured him." She described his injuries - from what she could see on the bed. Castiel answered her questions, and ultimately they decided he would heal on his own. Since none of the injuries had been fatal and it was the angelic power that rendered him unconscious. She hung up, and as she put the phone to sleep Sam re-entered. He held his duffel bag, a couple of sodas, and a large bag of ice.

"Alright, let me see your knee," he said. He started to examine her through the jeans but they appeared to be too constraining. "This isn't working. Take your pants off."

"What?" she yelped. He would have laughed, but he wasn't quite in the mood.

"I can't tell what's wrong. I need to know if you just strained it or you actually managed to break it," he explained. "Would you rather change, first?" She thought of her bag - just another pair of jeans. She sighed, and pressed back against the bed. She slipped the pants under her thighs, and delicately dragged the fabric down, taking special care over her injured knee. He pretended not to notice the lace-embellished boyshorts she wore. He pulled the pillows from the other bed, bracing the injury. After a few minutes he made a cold-compress, and prepared to wrap her leg.

"Ow," she whimpered as he wrapped the knee. He didn't slow, but glanced at her.

"It's not broken," he told her. "But it's badly sprained. It's already really swollen. I wish I had crutches for you." She shrugged.

"Spraining it isn't that bad. Even if I exascerbate the injury it'll heal still heal up perfectly, right?"

"Yeah." She scooted back on the bed, trying to make room for him to get kind-of comfortable. She was already sitting with her jeans laid over her thighs - for modesty. He pulled a chair over, however, simply propping his only-socked feet on the bed.

"Actually," she started. Then changed her mind. "Forget it."

"What?"

"Uh... well I would really love a pain-killer," she said. He glanced at his bag - thinking. He was almost positive there wouldn't be anything in there for her.

"Sorry, I don't really -"

"No. I have some. But my bag is in the car," she explained.

"On it," he said quickly, putting his shoes back on. The rain had started up again, she could hear the wind outside. He re-entered the room, and was instantaneously backlit by a flash of lightning. She had jolted at the clash of thunder but now just watched him. He set her bag next to her, before running his hands over his hair - letting the extra water drip over his back. She rummaged through, finding the headache cocktail. It was all she had - but she was thankful for it. She took two. He watched her, handing her the cream soda he'd brought in for her. She grimaced.

"So," she began, glancing at Othniel still asleep on the bed. "How are you?"

"Fine," he replied. She leveled a stare at him and waited. When he didn't take the bait she pressed.

"You haven't seen Dean in how long, Sam?" Sam shrugged, trying to let the night's events roll off his shoulders. "I know you're not fine." She placed emphasis on the word. He still didn't speak. "You don't have to talk to me," she added. "I know we still don't really know one another. But if at any point you realize you're not fine, I'm here. However you need me to be." She didn't consider her own implications, but Sam's eyebrows didn't entirely enlighten her either. He merely slouched back into his chair. "I was a peer counsellor in college. I know how to keep a secret. And there's nothing you could say that would make me judge you." They didn't speak after that, and before long Elanor had fallen into a restless slumber. She dreamed - of a ring of fire and a naked tree.

When she awoke dawn's first light was trickling through the purple curtains on the window. Othniel was awake. His movement was what had disturbed her.

"How are you?" she asked. He looked to her. He looked perfectly fine, now. His vessel fully healed. He moved to her.

"You're hurt," he said. He moved to heal her but she stalled him.

"You were knocked off your ass," she said. "Don't spend any more of your energy dealing with my not-very-injured knee." He moved her hand, healing her anyway. She frowned, though he didn't seem weakened.

"I have to go," Othniel told her. "I am thankful that you helped me, Elanor. But you should not have put ourself in danger. Sam should have protected you."

"Sam was," she broke off, considering her path. "Dealing with other demons." Othniel stood, and gave a waning look toward the window. She pushed up onto her elbows, allowing her painless knee to press against the pillows that had kept it elevated throughout the night.

"Well, I must return to Castiel. Does he know of my condition?" Elanor simply nodded. She scrambled to her feet, waking Sam whose feet were still propped on the bed. She hugged Othniel.

"Don't make me worry so much," she said softly. Othniel hugged her back, tilting his head down to embrace her fully.

"I am sorry," he assured her. Then he drew her away, picked up his phone, and walked out of the room. She glanced at Sam who was trying to feign sleep. She leaned across the bed, loosening the bandage as she reached. She rubbed his calf, and he opened his eyes at her.

"You can lay down," she told him. "Othniel left." She climbed under the blanket Othniel had scarcely disturbed as Sam moved onto the other bed. The slept for a couple of more hours before heading back to the bunker. They ate at a diner en route - she ordered chocolate chip pancakes, he rolled his eyes.

"You're just jealous," she suggested, taking a small bite. They ate their fill and got back on the road.

"Did your angel say why they had him?"

"No," she replied. "But I didn't really ask. I was mostly concerned with his health. He was mostly concerned with my safety. And -" she paused. "I figured if I didn't ask too much, he wouldn't either." Sam nodded.

"So you're not telling him?"

"I thought you didn't want me to," she replied. "And if Castiel hasn't - maybe the angels shouldn't know." Sam nodded.

"I didn't want them to know... but I had assumed you explained why we needed the ingredients." She shook her head.

"That's your news to share," she said. "If you choose to share it. I don't know angels well - just Othniel. And I believe that if he thought Dean put me in specific danger he would either relocate me or go after Dean himself. From where I'm sitting, this is the way to handle things. We do the spell, we lock him down, and you do what you have to do to bring him back. I'm with you the whole way."


	5. Chapter 5: Black Sun

"We have just about everything," Sam said - looking down at the spell kit they'd been accumulating. "We just need the virgin's blood. I'll go out and find one." She watched him stand, reaching out for his coat. Autumn was just beginning.

"Go out and find one?" She asked. He nodded. "Why don't you just do it the easy way?"

"The easy way?" Sam returned, pausing - his hands poised over the buttons.

"Yeah. The easy way," she stated, rolling up her sleeves. He hesitated, wondering if he understood her meaning correctly.

"You're... You're a virgin?" He asked, his brows quizzical and the faintest of baffled smiles on his lips. She nodded, molding her features into feigned irritation.

"Well that does make things a bit easier," he said, lowering himself back into his seat. "I wonder how much of your blood I can take before you faint."

The process was grueling. Not only was she a bit squeamish about needles, the spell called for nearly a gallon of blood. He worked on her until she was pale, her usual pallor nothing compared to the subtle gray that filled her face and drained her lips. She kept telling him to continue, though she was woozy, and drifting out of consciousness. He stopped after the fourth pint, and then took the time to massage her extremities. Though she was barely conscious, he knew he had to keep her well. He let her rest for a little less than twenty minutes before he woke her. A power drink and some cookies were what he started her off with. She went to bed early and woke up late; after one.

"I don't know why you stopped so early," she said.

"Early? Elanor, you were about to go into shock."

"I was not," she declared. She was still pale, but when he said as much: "I'm always pale!" Was her reply.

"In any case, you're taking at least today to recover. Blood banks keep people limited to once every two weeks - and they take maybe two pints. If you know of another virgin, I'd love to start up again." She pouted but he ignored her, shoving the donuts he'd bought under her nose.

"You can't buy me out with pastries," she declared.

"I'm not," he replied. "You need the carbs."

"So what exactly is the plan, anyway?" She asked him. "Are you going to start trying to heal him immediately?"

"That is the plan," Sam confirmed. "I'm not even sure if it will work. I can't find Cain and Crowley has dodged every summoning spell I've cast. Dean, I believe, is now a knight. He holds the only thing that could kill him."

"You wouldn't, anyway," she said. "Even if you could."

"I think I would."

"No," she corrected. "You'd like to think you would. Even you know better." He didn't respond. She rose to her feet and Sam mirrored her movements.

"What do you need?" He asked - resisting the urge to reach out for her.

"Coffee?" She suggested. He went for her and she was impressed when he set the mug down in front of her. He had treated it with cream and sugar - perfectly to her taste. "You know how I take it?"

"You've only been here for months," Sam replied. She talked him into a field trip because despite her fatigue she was struggling with not doing anything useful.

"Let's go out!" She had begged. She gave him the keys to the Nova, encouraging him to drive. As they emerged onto the country road Sam paused, looking at her.

"Where did you want to go?" He thought it was the lesser of two evils, allowing a field-trip. Otherwise she might have started doing something unnecessary, like drawing out her own blood. He didn't want to think she was so obsessed, but when she was determined she was very determined.

"I don't know. Is there any kind of water nearby?" she asked. "I know one thing, though. I want to listen to music." She leaned over, pressing play on iPod, hooked into the cassette player of the old car.

"What is this?" Sam asked, making a face as he pulled onto a highway.

"Heaven," she sighed. "What can I say - I prefer music I wasn't alive for. Just be thankful it's not Cyndi Lauper." He didn't state that he didn't mind Cyndi Lauper. He felt it was too early for that kind of fun. They just drove for a while, but he pulled into the first diner he saw.

"How about a really unhealthy early dinner?" he asked. She nodded, slipping out of the car. She'd worn a sleeveless dress, which brushed against the rise of her thigh as she walked - the black pantyhose helped her feel more chaste, and the sweater hid the somewhat immodest neckline. She didn't usually worry about things like that - she liked her body and knew how to dress it. But she had noticed that the people she came into contact with in this part of Kansas seemed rather preoccupied with the bible.

They sat, having ordered their food. Sam had his usual salad - but Elanor had decided to go all out. She sat with a large bacon hamburger and fries, sipping her sweet iced tea. Sam laughed at her order when it arrived, and shook his head when she asked what the joke was. He couldn't help but think of his brother - between the power ballads in the car and the greasy burger he was looking at now. Their similarities were interesting, and unexpected.

"Do you usually eat like this?" he asked. She angled one eyebrow as she chewed. She finished her bite before answering.

"You know that's kind of a rude thing to ask a girl."

"I didn't mean it like that," he said immediately.

"I know. But... still. I'm a pretty chill person, you say that to the wrong girl one day, she might knock you off your feet." Elanor smiled sweetly. "But not all the time. I like salad a lot. But I also like burgers. And whenever I want one, I'm not likely to tell myself no. Now the fries," she added, popping one into her mouth. "Sometimes I try to avoid the fries. But goodness aren't potatoes the best?"

"I only asked because Dean," he began. She watched him - he must have been thinking it already, but when he started to say it aloud he had an emotional response. "I only asked because Dean usually eats like that."

"Well, then I should be honored, right?" she smiled again for him. "Or is it you that should feel honored?" He shrugged. The conversation was light after that - Elanor told Sam stories about her years at college, about the ex-boyfriend that had tried to convince her that she was cheating on him, and the best friend she had loved so dearly yet had fallen off the grid so quickly after college Elanor hadn't had the chance to keep up with her.

The beginning of fall brought an earlier sunset, and they stayed at the diner for nearly two hours. By seven the sun was disappearing beneath the low bed of clouds, casting magenta and fiery orange into the sky. When they left the diner, Sam was ready to drive back to the bunker, but Elanor had another idea.

"Why don't we go to a bar," Elanor suggested merrily.

"A bar? Like you need any alcohol at all in your system."

"I'll just drink virgin daiquiris," she promised. "Maybe a pina colada. Don't you ever get tired of being all cooped up at the bunker?" He shrugged. "Right - you go places more than I do. Well, since we know what we're doing, and we're really just waiting on me to replenish myself, can't we just... enjoy the night life?" He conceded, and they drove until a bar became evident. It was in the town, a little place that wasn't quite as country as Elanor had feared. Soothing alternative rock played when they stepped in. She had left her sweater in the car, and now wore just the little wine-red dress and black tights. There would be no occasion for dancing, so Elanor challenged Sam to a game of pool.

"Do you want me to play like I usually do?" Sam asked her.

"Don't you hustle?" she replied. He merely chalked his cue. "Listen big guy, don't worry about me. You just play your heart out." She ordered him a shot while he stacked the table, he started to step back to allow her to break but she shook her head. "I'm not strong enough. You'd basically be breaking again once I hit it. You might as well." He didn't argue, and lowered himself for a better focus on his aim. He broke, and sank two of the balls. She smiled, resisting the urge to clap. He shot again, this time missing the mark by a hair. She shoved the shot she'd ordered at him, and though he gave her a faint questioning look, he took the mouthful of liquid. She stretched herself against her cue, mindful of her posture, and shot carefully. The striped ball rolled slowly toward the corner hole, and she leaned forward, willing it in. It dropped with a thud and she grinned largely, looking back at Sam.

The game continued, Elanor knew Sam was taking it easy on her - or at least she assumed as much. But she continued to order drinks for him as he lingered over the 8-ball, allowing her to play catch-up. They stayed on the table until people started to easily flow into the bar. As she put in quarters for another game Sam stepped off to the restroom, and one of the men at a table not far immediately made his move. He was tall - though not as tall as Sam - and expansive. He was soft in comparison to her companion, but she could tell he probably did some kind of manual labor.

"I've never seen you in here before," he said. "I'm Jerry."

"I've never been in here before," she replied, not meeting his eyes, and racking up the balls again.

"Are you even of age? You seem like such a cute little thing."

"I'm perfectly legal," she replied.

"So can I buy you a drink?" he pressed. She sighed, straightening, her back to the table, bracing her cue against her boot.

"I don't think so," she stated.

"What not? That pretty-boy your date?"

"No. But I'm not drinking tonight," she insisted. The man didn't seem thrilled with her denial.

"Well why don't you just come over and sit with me and my pals for a while?" She hesitated, glancing at the table where two other men sat, then at the bathroom door where Sam had disappeared to.

"I don't think so. My friend and I are just getting ready for another game." The man pressed his luck a bit more, leaning heavily against the pool table, using his size to trap her. She bristled, closing her stature and raising her chin.

"Come on, sweetie, don't be such a prude." Her eyes widened. "You know you'd have fun with me, right?"

"I know that I'm not going to," she stated pointedly. She glared at him.

"And there's nothing I could do to persuade you?" he asked, raising his hand to touch a lock of her copper hair.

"Hey," she heard Sam's voice. "Everything okay, Elanor?"

"Yeah, of course. This is Jerry. He was just leaving," she replied. Jerry didn't seem thrilled. He sighed, turning to Sam.

"I think she can speak for herself," Jerry said.

"I agree," Sam stated. The guy seemed to give up, he gave Elanor a last lingering look before turning tail and going back to his friends. "Do you want to leave?" Elanor shook her head.

"No. I want to play this next game of pool - and I want to have fun. I just wish he'd gone away the first time I asked him to." Sam looked back at the table. Jerry wasn't looking at them, but one of the other guys was.

"Do you want that virgin daiquiri?" Sam asked. Elanor nodded.

"I'll break this time." The game went well - though Sam still took the victory. They sat, Elanor with her second cocktail, Sam with what might have been his eighth drink. His vision was still strong, but he could feel the effects of the bitter liquid in his extremities. His speech was beginning to loosen.

"So," he began, taking a drink of the scotch he had now. "You're a virgin." It was a statement, though the look that followed felt like a question. She giggled.

"Yes," she confirmed. "I am a virgin." She smiled, faint embarassment coloring her features.

"How?" he asked. He frowned comically through his stupor.

"Um.. old habits die hard?" she suggested. He laughed hazily.

"Is that a nun joke?" he asked. She shook her head, and then tilted it.

"It wasn't. But it could be. I don't know what you mean - how? Usually one remains a virgin by not having sex."

"I mean - no one ever tries?" Elanor laughed a little.

"Sure, people try."

"Wait -" Sam interjected suddenly, flattening his palm against the little table they sat at. "You're not a 'technical virgin' right? Or 'reborn'?" He quoted the phrases with heavy emphasis.

"Nope. I'm the real thing. I know. I'm practically a myth."

"Does Othniel know? But, why, though? Sex is fun," he said. She laughed.

"I don't know if he knows. And yeah, I've heard." She knew how unusual it was when she was still in college, and as she got older she imagined it had to be just as surprising.

"Is it religious?" he asked. She shook her head. So many questions. Fleeting and impulsive questions.

"Here's what it is to me, I guess. I didn't have any intentions of holding out, you know. I wasn't a sixteen year old who thought I would be a twenty-five year old virgin. It wasn't a plan, it was just a habit. I had a couple of opportunities. But I guess I have been waiting for a sign, or to fall in love." He just watched her. "I know it sounds silly. But I don't know what else to tell you. I can't miss what I've never had." Sam nodded heavily. She smiled.

"It's not silly," he said, leaning back. "Love makes it better, usually. It's not like a fear thing?"

"Not that I've noticed," she told him. "I mean, I'm no glutton for pain or anything - but in that respect I'm actually much more secure and educated than most women are when they have sex for the first time. I don't know what else to say, I mean... it's just not that big of an issue for me." He nodded again. She could see the intoxication setting in, she figured they would need to leave soon.

"Your eyes are so," he began - he'd been gazing at them for a few moments already. He seemed to be searching for the right word - the right color. "...silver," he finished lamely. She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh at him.

"Thankyou," she said. She made the leap herself - she didn't think he was just trying to state a fact, she was sure he was attempting to compliment her. "Simply saying blue would be accurate, too."

"So are you guys a couple?" came a gruffly intoxicated voice. Jerry was back. She turned to look at him. "Do you want to dance?" he aimed at Elanor. She glanced at the small dance-floor, still mostly covered by stools. Four couples danced drunkenly.

"No," she said simply.

"Cause you're with this guy?"

"Do you really think it's wise to come up to me - in close quarters with 'this guy' - and act like I owe you an explanation?" Maybe she was speaking loosely, but she was irritated with his countenance.

"I think you need to get off your high-horse and let me buy you a drink." Sam was silent, but he had straightened in his seat. His eyes had cleared - Elanor was sure he was drunk, but he wasn't showing any sign of it now. "Come on," he said - Jerry reached out, gripping Elanor's upper arm. She resisted the urge to dramatically pull away from him.

"Take your hand off of me," she stated. He seemed unaware of himself, and tugged her down off of the stool. She landed on her feet and glared up at the drunken slob.

"Don't touch her," Sam stated. There was an edge to his tone. A warning or a threat. Jerry didn't even glanced at him, but he didn't move either.

"Look, dude, just let me go and everything is fine," Elanor said slowly. The man said something rude, a phrase that would have needed a heavy euphemism for Elanor to even have known how to rebutt. Sam stood, shifting the stool he'd been perched on out of his way.

"Let her go," Sam said again. Jerry glared at Sam now, his jaw slackening slightly. He let go of Elanor - but squared his shoulders - trying to appear bigger than he was. His buddies had stood up a few feet away. They seemed braced for a rumble. Elanor stepped across Sam, slapping a bill down on the bar and nodding to the bartender who nodded back. Then she grabbed Sam's fore-arm and dragged him toward the door. At first he didn't budge, easily resisting the one hundred thirty pound girl, and then he turned. As he did so - Jerry threw a punch. It grazed the side of Sam's head, mostly ruffling his length of brown hair. He dodged the next one easily, pressing Elanor back.

"No," she insisted. "Let's go." Sam heeded her request, and they stepped into the early autumn air together. She drove them back to the bunker, shaking her head.

"That was really weird," Sam said, slumped in the passenger seat. Elanor nodded.

"Yep."

"Has that happened to you before?"

"Not quite like that. I'm a bit more used to gentlemen," she admitted. "And I don't imagine you often get a random guy trying to buck up to you like that, huh?"

"Not often," he agreed. His head lolled to the side, and he watched her face - illuminated by an occasional street-light. She was beautiful, he thought foggily. And pure, he knew now. Once again he felt the wash of impurity in his soul and on his body. He'd known since he was very young that he wasn't clean - and now he was reminded of it quite forcefully. The harsh lash of Elanor's angelic looks just a stoic reminder that the good he brought to the world would never outweigh the scourge he had brought with him.


	6. Chapter 6: The Chain

Chapter 6

It took them a little while to get home, but as she drove into the garage she glanced at him. He met her eyes softly, she tried to ignore the darkness she could see in their deep green. She parked the car and turned to him fully.

"Still drunk?" she asked. He nodded. "I wanted to tell that guy you fought werewolves and vampires in your off-time. But it didn't seem appropriate."

"I wouldn't have fought him," Sam murmured as they walked into the main room. Elanor believed him. He wasn't prone to mindless temper. "Unless I didn't have a choice."

"Well there's always a choice," Elanor said softly, thinking that she should have left when Sam first offered. The next few days passed easily, and Sam had eased their regimen a bit - despite Elanor's objections. He was now taking half a pint from her every two days. The even pace left her a little anemic, but fully functional. As they rounded off the gallon, however, she had a new idea.

"Sam," she began, sitting across from him for dinner. "I think I should learn to fight." He took a bite of the chicken and pasta she had made. He watched her, chewing thoughtfully.

"That's a relevent idea," he agreed.

"Maybe I'm not being clear - I think you should teach me to fight." He wasn't quite sure how he felt about this. He wanted her to be safe - to be able to defend herself - but he also wanted her no where near anything that she would need to fight. He continued to eat without an answer. "I've been looking at self-defense videos online, but I feel like I'd get further if you were guiding me," she continued. He looked at her fully, his face serious.

"I'm not sure." He didn't elaborate, and let his ambivalence hang in the air.

Her phone started buzzing. She looked at it - it was Othniel. She answered quickly, stepping away from the table. He was just checking in, it seemed. He was in Texas - her home - and wanted Elanor to know that Regina and her kids were doing well. There had been no further indication of trouble since they'd left over a year ago. When she got off the phone, Elanor hugged her arms around herself. She was still hungry - but she suddenly felt tired and tearful. She returned to the table, silent. She ate slowly, lingering over every bite.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked at length. She nodded. "No bad news? What did Othniel want?"

"Nothing. Just checking in." He nodded his understanding, but continued to watch her.

"Where is he nowadays?" Sam asked.

"Texas," she said. Sam waited but she didn't elaborate. He knew her family was in Austin - but he didn't want to start a conversation that she didn't want to be involved in.

"What did he tell you?" She didn't answer and after a beat Sam asked another question. "Are they okay?"

"Yeah," she answered with a sigh. "They're fine. No trouble. Happy and healthy."

"Well that's good," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed. "We're blessed." She wasn't being sarcastic, but he heard the bitterness in your tone.

"I know you miss them," he said.

"I do miss them," she replied, rising to her feet. "But I'm tired. I'm going to bed." He nodded, watching her take her dishes to the kitchen. He heard the simple clattering - homey sounds. He didn't know how to handle her emotions, not when they were so close to getting Dean back. He stayed up later than usual that night, wondering if her mood would persist the following day - researching a church to summon Dean to. He would have to go to confessional, and be ready for the grueling task of redeeming his brother's soul. His greatest sin? Letting his brother feed himself to the beast, again. Failing him, again.

Elanor rose late, taking the time to shower and pamper herself physically before coming out to the main quarters. The perma-bruise on her arm ached as she cleaned, but she didn't bother with it. She was having a headache. It made her back and shoulders ache without suggestion, and she walked around squinting under the weight of the pain. She didn't want to do nothing, however. She wanted to be useful. Since her blood had been claimed, she needed something new to keep her relevant. Sam saw her waver slightly on her feet, she threw out an arm to balance herself, splaying her right hand against the wall. He stepped closer, unsure if she were going to recover.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, pulling a chair out for her. She sat, leaning her head back.

"I almost fainted," she said. "I've been feeling bad. I just got dizzy."She swallowed hard. He watched her.

"Is this because of the blood?" It shouldn't have been, he knew, but maybe she was having a delayed reaction. She was quite pale, even the tint that usually lit up her cheeks and lips was melding with her overall pallor. He reached out to feel her forehead but she felt cold. Not feverish.

"I don't think so," she replied slowly, taking her time between each word.

"What do you need?" He was at a loss - if she'd been visually injured he could have stitched her up with no problem, but as it was he didn't know how to handle whatever was ailing her.

"I just need to let it pass," she told him. He stood awkwardly beside her.

"You stay there," he commanded. "I'll make you some tea." Her vision had begun to waver and narrow - tunnel-vision as well as the monochromatic effect that she'd experienced before. He returned, waiting for the tea to steep, and moved her to the more comfortable chair. She gripped his arm weakly as she walked. She had objected to him carrying her. He sat with her until they could smell the tea, and then left her to retrieve it for her. She sat, now, with her legs curled beneath her, and the mug of tea in her somewhat unsteady hands.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," she said. Sam looked at her solemnly.

"You seem to take care of me, more than I take care of you."

"I kind of disagree," she replied, taking a sip from her mug. Sam moved to the table, and upon handing Elanor the book she requested got back to work finding a suitable church. He worked as she recovered but less than an hour later she wanted to be involved again. "Can you go over the ritual again?" she asked. Sam turned his chair to face her - talking through the exorcism roots, and how he'd have to draw out blood. When she asked how he had discovered this cure for demons, he felt the need to tell her about the trials.

Sam let out a soothing breath, and opened a subject he would rather avoid.

"The year leading up to the angels falling - my brother and I were going to close hell. It would have sent all the demons back, and closed the doors for good." Elanor uttered a soft wow, but Sam didn't stop. "To get this done, one of us had to go through three trials. Dean had wanted to, but it ended up that I was the one who tackled the first trial, so I was the one who started the process. The last trial is to heal a demon."

"But what happened? I assume it didn't happen?" Elanor prompted. Sam shook his head.

"Dean," he said. "Stopped me. The third trial would have concluded with my death. It's a painful process - it made me really sick. Sicker than I've ever been. I was at peace with it, though our instruction manual hadn't told us I would die I had already considered the possibility."

"But Dean couldn't let you die," Elanor empathized. Sam shook his head.

"No, he couldn't. That night was the same night the angels fell, after that I fell into a coma though I still don't know how long it actually was. Dean got me to be a vessel for an angel - who mostly repaired my body."

"Wait," Elanor said suddenly, looking up from her tea. "If you try to cure your brother, couldn't that restart the last trial and bring about your death?" Sam wasn't sure how to answer her. He didn't think it would, but he didn't care much about the risk. He couldn't deny that it was a possibility, however. His hesitation was clear enough for her.

"I don't think it will." She could see the doubt in his face, though.

"We'll put it off a bit longer," she said.

"What?"

"We'll just have to wait a bit longer. I'll do the ritual."

"What?" He repeated. He hadn't expected this development.

"I'll do the ritual," she said again. "It might kill you."

"If it kills me, it also closes hell," he reasoned. She shook her head.

"And what the hell do you think Dean's going to do when you pull him back from being a demon? I mean, he's a demon now, Sam. He's going to be messed up when he comes out of it, don't you think?" Sam hadn't actually considered the emotional toll it would take on his brother. He'd been thinking too much about the path, rather than the aftermath. "I mean - he could be doing anything right now. I think you need to be here for him. If you went postal for a few months don't you think you'd want Dean there beside you?"

"And you're going to do it, how? You've already lost too much blood."

"That's why we have to wait," she replied.

"No. No," he reiterated. "I don't care what you say. You're not going to do it. You're not even going to be there." She set her mouth stubbornly, but he was decided. She considered playing an emotional card, she considered begging. But she knew no matter what path she took his answer wouldn't change today. She knew that looking weak wouldn't help her case.

"What happened to the demon you almost cured?"

"Well, he's the king of hell and he's now addicted to human blood. Or he was, last I saw him." Elanor nodded vaguely.

"Have you picked a church, yet?" Sam shook his head, looking back to his laptop. "Oh, and just so you know, I am going to be there." He looked back at her, opening his mouth to object. "I don't care what you say. I won't interfere if you really don't want me to. But I'm going to be there. Someone has to look out for you. I'm not letting you do this alone - and you wanting to keep it on the down low from Othniel is fine, but someone is going to be there with you. And if no one else, it's going to be me."

"What do you think you can do if something does go wrong?" Sam prompted.

"More than I would if I were here and unaware of whether you were still alive or not."

"I'm not going to drag you into this," Sam said. Elanor laughed, sarcasm dripping from the tone. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Drag me into this? I involved myself - but I'm already in. You have half of my life force in bags and syringes, for goodness' sake. But that's not the point. You think I don't worry about you already - even on regular hunts? And that was before some monster practically ripped your torso in half. Which you should have called me about so I would have been ready. Anyway, the point is that I'm going. And you're just going to have to deal with it."

"You're not doing the ritual," Sam stated, forceful. Final.

"Fine," she returned. "But I'll be a cheerleader."

With the dizziness gone and most of the migraine filtering away, Elanor made dinner that night, and when they sat to eat the baked fish, Sam showed her the church he had selected. It was out of the way - abandoned - but purely Catholic. Surrounded by trees and an expanse of wilderness, the town it had belonged to had died a couple of decades ago.

"God bless google-earth," Elanor said, looking at the satellite image. "So what do we do? Should every entrance be covered by an demon trap?"

"The traps here didn't hold him," Sam said. "I'm not a hundred percent on this church, but that's something else we'll need to work on."

"What if we paint them in virgin's blood?"

"Well, I'm already planning to paint the main one in your blood," Sam told her. "We've alreay drawn out all the blood we need to for that, and the ritual itself." His phone began to ring, and they both looked at it.

"Hey, Jody," he answered, bringing the phone to his ear. He swiped passively at his hair and Elanor watched it as it slipped back over itself. The tawny brown still lustrous in the unspectacular light of the bunker. "Yeah, I can be there in a few hours." He shifted to his feet. "I'll call you when I'm close." He hung up, slipping the phone into the pocket of his jeans. Elanor watched him.

"A girl?" she asked, moving her shoulders. He smirked at her antics, but didn't comment.

"A friend of ours. She doesn't know Dean's out of commission."

"Shouldn't you have warned her?" Elanor asked. If Dean had friends, they would welcome his face without hesitation.

"I will now," Sam replied. "I saw her a few weeks ago."

"What did you tell her then?"

"Nothing, really. Anyway, I'll be back in a couple of days. She says there's been some disappearances around her town. Probably ghouls or something. Are you going to be okay if I go?" Elanor nodded, murmuring an assuring response. He walked to the bag he always kept packed and ready to go, and after grabbing his coat, he was gone.

Elanor stood at the edge of a cliff, in her hand was a rosary. She was murmuring a prayer, and then with a sigh dropped the rosary from the tip of her longest finger. She watched it fall. Down and down, into the ocean. And from the point of impact, the ocean turned stormy, and then bloody. The red ocean, now angry and war-like, began to rise. Elanor looked down at herself, and saw an injury forming through her nightgown. Across her abdomen she was becoming blood soaked. She turned around, gripping her stomach and she saw, down the path, Sam Winchester. Except it was at once Sam and not Sam. She walked toward him, trying to call his name, and the wave from the ocean rose up and flowed by her. She was swept off her feet and then landed but everything else drained away. She was left in a dress, now crimson, her skin clean and the vague pain gone. She began to run in the groundless world, no definition. Her mind screamed and she stopped, looking to the sky. A single star fell now - and landed not far beyond her. She ran to it, collapsing at the flash of impact, and found herself looking up to Sam. He wore white. He smiled at her - strangely. A coaxing expression, and he offered his hand.

"You're an angel," she accused, though she hadn't thought it. He merely continued to smile. But as her hesitation grew his face contorted, agonizing, corroding and flaking away. Elanor screamed, and awoke with her voice muffled against her pillow. She pressed her hand against her tummy. She reached for her journal, and wrote out what she recalled of the dream by the paltry light of her bedside lamp. Since she knew Sam was gone she had slept nude - something she hadn't allowed herself to do in over a year. She missed it, but it was an old habit that she enjoyed. She would have taken a bubble bath, if there'd been a tub she didn't have to manually fill. She looked over the last few dreams she'd written down. One with the tree she tried to climb, but always ended up falling from. One with the tall building she watched tornadoes from. The most recent was the first she'd had of Sam. But so often she had dreams with black-eyed attackers. The fear from the supposed angel was strange to her. Why would she have been afraid of Sam?

She got out of bed after had been four days since Sam had left and she'd been busily working. But she didn't want to work today. She wanted to enjoy herself. She put on a simple dress with quarter sleeves, and thick tights. She slipped on her boots and put her little knife in the ankle-cuff. She was right handed, so kept the knife in the corresponding boot. She spent a little time in the bunker. She felt oddly lonely, though she'd been alone before. She pondered on it as she ate breakfast, and took time to do all of the dishes. They didn't usually make much mess, but she'd been slacking lately. She left the house around four. She was craving some air, and a little fun. She called Othniel as she drove.

"Hello?" he answered. She smiled.

"Hey buddy," she called out. She thought she heard someone speaking behind him. "Oh, are you busy?"

"No," he replied quickly. She frowned.

"Are you sure? Where are you?"

"I'm on a park bench," he said.

"On assignment?"

"Yes." She let the silence settle for a second, hoping he would elaborate. She wanted to ask, but she didn't want him to think she didn't trust him. He didn't expand himself. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just going for a drive. Sam's out of town. And I'm kind of bored." Othniel was quiet. "Don't worry, I'll be home before dark," she lied. She didn't plan to stay out but she wasn't going to be racing sunset, either.

"Be careful, Elanor," Othniel said. He seemed unhappy, which was saying something.

"Othniel are you okay?" she asked. He didn't answer.

"I'm fine."

"How are the angels?" she pressed. He wasn't telling her something.

"They are well. Any news?"

"None yet. Any word on why I'm demon-bait?"

"No. Did the ingredients I sent you meet your requirements?"

"Yeah, actually. And the spell kit is done, we just need to find the thing we're going to summon." She heard speech behind Othniel, and then his laughter. She'd only heard his laughter once - when she had taught him to fake it. "Well, anyway, you sound busy," she continued. "I'll talk to you later."

"Yes," Othniel said. "Call me later." She looked at her phone for a second, going over the conversation in her head. He hadn't said anything weird... but she still had a weird feeling about it. She called Sam, but he didn't answer. So she let it rest for a while. She wouldn't let it ruin her day. She was clothes shopping, again. She scoffed at herself, knowing she had no one to impress, but a girl could feel pretty without a reason, right? She didn't want to think of it as a waste of money. She talked with a woman who was shopping with a teenaged daughter, and felt a wave of well-buried grief wash over her. Her mom had been a beautiful woman, with dark auburn hair and a high fluting laugh. Her mom's brown eyes had always been such a comfort to her. She sighed at herself, wearing a mauve dress. What would her mother have thought - of her running away from home the way she had? She smiled then, knowing her mom would have told her it was the right thing. Being safe is the most important thing, her mom had always told her. Elanor watched her face for a glimmer of her mother, the older she got the more she could see it. It was the shape of her face and the soft cleft chin more than anything else. Her eyes were closer to her dad's steel blue. Her hair a reasonable mix between her dad's blonde and her mom's dark red. Her short stature was something she didn't entirely understand, but height could skip a generation.

She only bought a tube of lip gloss and the one dress. She changed into it before she left the store, talking happily with the girl at the counter. She whirled as she stepped outside, letting the comfortable fall air chill her skin before stepping into the sunlight. She'd spent more time than she'd intended to inside the shop, but didn't mind the lapse. She was beginning to get hungry again - dinner-time. She pulled into what she had thought was a restaurant but turned out to be a bar. Classier than the last one she'd seen. She ordered some wings and a frosty drink. She watched the game that played on the screen, just enjoying the existence of the people around her. That is - until an unfortunately familiar voice got her attention. She hadn't been watching for him, had practically forgotten he existed, but Jerry the drunken idiot was back for round two.


	7. Chapter 7: Landslide

"Fancy seeing you here," Jerry said. She didn't turn her head at first, hoping he would simply walk away. "I was wondering if you and your boyfriend had left town." She still didn't look at him. "Come on, don't be that way." He sat in the chair opposite her, and she glared at him. "Look! I'm sorry for last time. I had a hard day. I just think you're so beautiful. Just let me buy you a drink," he plead.

"No thanks," she answered.

"I'm not looking for any trouble. I'll leave you alone. I am sorry," he repeated. She nodded to him and he left her in peace. The tension drained a bit. Maybe he'd just been intoxicated last time. She finished her food, and took the time to finish her drink. It wasn't strong at all, but she still wanted to wait just to be sure. The sun had gone down and she suddenly felt a bit bad for lying to Othniel. She wished she didn't feel vulnerable like this. Was it too much to ask for a normal outting? She quelled the despair. She was making it what it was. She stifled the instinct that had the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She paid cash, and made way for the restroom and then the parking lot. She held her keys as she walked, her boots crunching simply over the gravel. And then someone's hands were upon her, fixing over her mouth and around her torso. She kicked out, bracing herself internally for a fight. Adrenaline was already aggressive in her veins. She bit the hand that covered her mouth and her attacker swore.

Of course it was Jerry. She threw her head back, she missed his head but collided stiffly with his clavicle. He lurched, his grip slackening, but before she could get away he had her again. He dug his fingers into her neck. She was dragged back, and though she was nearly blind with fear and rage, it didn't compare to the darkness that suddenly fell over them. She realized he had dragged her into a darkened crevice - it smelled like garbage. He threw her down and her head collided roughly with the concrete. The scarce light spun around her - she was dizzy and terrified. She heard a faint twinkle of metal, and then another crunch as he stepped to her again. She gathered her remaining faculties, and mustered her strength - fishing into her boot for her knife. She slung it open, she didn't know if he saw it or not but he didn't stop. She lunged from her place on the alley's ground, catching him low on the thigh. The blade slid through jean and flesh without harsh resistance. He swore again, kicking at her, but she caught his foot with both hands, plunging the blade into his calf to the hilt. She withdrew it, rising to her feet. He had fallen back, catching himself heavily against the wall. She stepped to him, pressing the blade against his throat.

"Go home, Jerry," she hissed. Her hair was clouding behind her, and she could feel an awkward pain radiating from her core.

"Screw you," he spat. She braced herself, drawing back the blade but he flinched heavily. She stepped back. Her arm hurt. He began to limp away. She didn't know what to do. She was shaking. She wanted to call the cops - so they would know. But she couldn't let herself be known. A moment later she heard her ring tone. A happy sound from the late eighties. She felt for her purse, and then looked around. It lay in the parking lot. Her phone glowing a few feet away.

"Hello?" she gasped.

"Elanor, are you okay?" It was Sam. She could have laughed.

"Um. Not really," was her reply.

"Where are you?" Sam demanded.

"I'm in town," she answered.

"I just got to the bunker and you weren't here. I didn't know..."

"Sam," she began. She was having difficulty with her words.

"What? Elanor, what?"

"Do you remember Jerry?"

"Who? Elanor where are you, exactly?"

She went back inside the bar when he hung up. She knew he was coming for her. The waitress on duty came to her as she walked in - they had chatted for a second when Elanor had ordered her food. She sat her down in a booth and brought over ice and water. Elanor told Amy about Jerry.

"He's a local trouble-maker," Amy told her, putting her hand over Elanor's. "But I didn't know he was all that." It wasn't doubt, Elanor knew. But still unfortunate. "I won't be letting him back in here. Do I need to call someone for you? You already called the cops, right?"

"My friend is coming," she said softly. She didn't answer the second question. Amy was a tall blonde woman, with long well-toned legs.

"Okay. Are you okay? You look a little roughed up." Elanor hadn't thought of her appearance, she looked down at the mauve dress she'd bought that afternoon and dully noted the snags in the soft material. Sam got there in record time, and Amy left Elanor in his care. Elanor didn't want to meet Sam's eyes. She didn't want to be lectured. Othniel would lecture her. He looked at her closely, drawing her toward a low-hanging light. He touched her head where she said it had collided with the ground. It was painful, already swelling a bit.

"Do you want to go to a hospital?" Sam asked. He trusted his ability to diagnose and treat her - but it wouldn't matter if she wasn't secure with it. She said no, however. So he drove them back.

"My car," she said.

"I'll come for it tomorrow," he returned. In the light of the bunker she could see that he was a little worse for wear as well. He had narrow cuts on the side of his throat - and what looked to be a blackened eye. She slept as soon as he was sure she didn't have a concussion, and woke with the sun. She was filled with a jittery nervous energy and she was quite sore. She showered, taking the time to deep-condition her hair and moisturize her body. She had bruises scattered over her skin, the most prominent low on her ribs, and in the crevice of her neck. She dressed in light-weight clothes. Slim stretchy pants and a soft cotton shirt. She walked barefoot to the main room. Sam wasn't in view, but she was sitting with her first cup of coffee when he walked in the front door. She watched him jog down the stairs, and come through the war-room to where she sat. He'd been running.

"Good run?" she asked mildly. He nodded.

"Yeah," he replied. He was still a bit winded. "You're up kind of early."

"Yeah I know. I dunno, just felt like being alive today," she said.

"I went and got your car already," he said, putting the keys on the table.

"You walked to town and drove back and then went on a run?" He nodded. "I guess I should cook you a good breakfast, then," she said. "And geez, Sam it's not even eight. When did you leave for town?" He shrugged.

"I'm gonna go shower."

"Yeah. You're getting some kind of omelette," she said. He headed to the showers and she finished her coffee before rising to cook. She scrounged for ingredients. There wasn't much left for it, but she cooked up some of the ground-beef before folding it into the eggs. It wasn't the most creative omelette, but she knew it would taste okay after the seasonings. She might have over-committed to the size, she thought, as she slid it from the pan onto a plate. She'd heard movement, and assumed he would be emerging soon. When she came out, however, she saw a different man standing in the archway. She was jolted - suddenly scared - and wondered if there was any chance Sam would hear her if she screamed. She stepped forward, setting the plate on the nearest table. He was a short man, with black hair that swept foreward, despite his slightly receding hairline. He wore a black suit and had watery eyes.

"Hello," he said. He stepped toward Elanor and extended his hand; he had an accent that Elanor took to be British. "I don't believe we've met. What's your name, dear?" She didn't answer, and shifted back slightly. "What're you, mute?"

"How did you get in?"

"I've been in and out of this place about as long as the boys have."

"Who are you?" she demanded, she reached for the flask on the shelf but he flicked his hand and it clattered to the floor. She set her mouth. "A demon."

"The name's Crowley," he said. "King of Hell." She simply stared, he cut his eyes to the side. Affected exasperation. "This is where you introduce yourself."

"Elanor," she replied stiffly. She was listening intently. She couldn't hear the shower. But she wasn't sure if she could from where she stood.

"Where's moose?"

"Mousse?" Elanor replied.

"Yeah, you know, eight feet tall, three feet wide. Sam Winchester. And you're supposed to be bright."

"I'm supposed to be bright? Do you know me?" Crowley didn't answer, but he swiped two finger across his lips - locking them. "I'll go get him," Elanor stated. She started to move past him but he slid over in front of her. He looked down at her and her chin jutted out rebelliously. She refused to let him intimidate her.

"I think we'll just wait. Can't have you giving him too much of a warning, afterall. And I don't imagine he'd leave a pretty thing like you on her own for too long."

"What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing too important. Just his head." He watched her reaction - the vague threat stiffened her even further. Her hands fisted. She glared at him, he reached for her face and she all but leapt back.

"Sam! It's Crowley!" she screamed. Her voice choked at the volume but it must have caught Crowley a bit off guard because he didn't catch her in-time. He missed with his reach, so he threw her across the room. She landed solidly against the stone wall. She gasped, struggling against the invisible force that pinned her. She watched Sam come around the corner, quiet as he moved, holding a knife.

"I wouldn't attack me quite yet, Bullwinkle," said Crowley in a mild tone. Sam slowed but didn't stop - still braced with the knife at the ready. He crept a slow step closer.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"We're practically family," Crowley crooned. "But also, I have a bit of a bargain for you." Sam still didn't relax - but Crowley released Elanor from her suspension. "It's about your brother." Crowley turned to Sam who was now less than three feet away.

"What?"

"He... well, it seems he wants to overthrow me for control of hell. And I really just hate when that happens. But what's bad is that in his current state he certainly has the juice for it." Crowley moved to one of the chairs, sitting in it.

"What about the wild party you were heading toward when I last saw you?" Sam shot.

"Oh the party was wild and it was had, of course. But even your brother can't spend an eternity being entirely self-serving. Which is a bit of a disappointment if I'm to be honest." Elanor was silent, but walked closer to the men - and the flask of holy-water that lay on the floor. "I'll save you all the gorey details. Humans can be a bit squeamish about things. I'm here because I want to know what your plan is."

"My plan?"

"Do you expect me to believe you've simply shacked up with this girl and have no schemes of reigning in your brother?" Sam didn't answer, so Crowley continued. "I know, I know. I'm a demon and bla-bla-bla not to be trusted. But it's in my best interest to tone down your brother. So what have you got?"

"Why would I tell you?" Sam asked.

"Because I might be your only hope." Sam glanced at Elanor, and then set his jaw. "Alright, well," Crowley began, rising to his feet. "You have my number."

"Can you help us find Cain?" Elanor demanded quickly. Sam's eyes widened as he focused on her. Crowley grinned largely.

"Ah, she is clever. I'll see what I can do. Anything else?"

"What do you know about me?" she followed up. He shook his head.

"Now, I'd love to get to know you. I could show you the ropes if you understand my meaning. You'd learn well. We could have a wild ride - but one juicy tid-bit at a time, love," he chastised. And then he was gone.

"Sorry," Elanor told Sam, she looked down at the omelette she'd made for him. It was still warm on the inside. He didn't speak at first. "I know he's probably the last person you want to work with. But if we can get extra help... if it's somehow genuine."

"It won't be genuine," Sam informed her, picking up the plate and digging in. "He did this to Dean." Elanor nodded. "But I know you want information about what's up with the demons and you. I get that."

"He spoke like he knew me. Or had heard of me. He said I was supposed to be bright. And that last bit seemed like he knew a lot more," she told him. Sam thought of it but didn't have any input. He knew what it was like to be at the center of a hellish scheme and to have no answers.

"I don't know what it's about. I know how frustrating it can be." He didn't want to use the word terrifying. She sat with him. What could they know of her? She'd never been very out-going or loose with her personal information. She'd only ever had two real boyfriends, and usually only a very small group of friends. She was just a librarian, she thought - watching her hands. Suddenly she stood - Sam jolted.

"Sorry," she said. "We need groceries so I guess I'm going to run to town." She stepped away and went to get her shoes. But something peculiar happened when she got to the garage. She climbed into her car but saw the knife she'd used to defend herself the night before laying by Sam's passenger-side door. There was blood dried onto the blade. She froze somewhat, with her hands on the wheel and the door hanging open. She zoned out - would have been asleep if her eyes weren't open. She sat that way until her stomach grumbled. She yawned harshly, and her eyes watered though she didn't realize she'd been there for more than three hours. She slid out of the car. She was too hungry to leave now, she told herself. She walked back to the main room and then into the kitchen. Sam stood at the stove, browning burger patties. He glanced back at her, his hair slipping against the collar of his shirt.

"Do you need help with the groceries?" he asked. He saw that she seemed pale. And... still. Not stiff just slow. Careful and calculated like every movement was choreographed.

"No," she said. "There aren't groceries."

"Forget your wallet?" he asked with a smile.

"I never left." He frowned.

"What? Why?" he asked, placing the burger patty on the bun and lettuce he had waiting. He started another - for her.

"I, um," she hesitated. She didn't know how to explain what had happened to her. He turned to face her fully and but she wasn't looking at his face. "I don't know. I just didn't leave."

"Did you black out? Faint?" She shook her head.

"I just... uh, have you ever done that yoga where you stay in one position for just so long that your brain stops working?" He would have smiled again at her description if she didn't look so shell-shocked. "It's like i was meditating."

"Did... do you have a headache?"

"Not particularly. I'm sorry. It's not important. I'll go for groceries in the morning, though." He nodded, but didn't quite buy that it wasn't important. They ate lunch together and talked about Crowley. Speculated a little about what the demons might want with her, made a vague and incomplete shopping list. She was quiet, though. She didn't resist interaction - but he felt as though he were leading the conversation which wasn't usually how things happened. They worked but because Elanor seemed too sullen Sam challenged her to a game of chess. She knew the mechanics well enough though had never been a particularly devoted player. He beat her easily the first time - in less than a half hour. The second round dragged on for hours, she was holding him at bay practically predicting his moves. She lost her queen, however. She would have given up if he hadn't seemed so invested. He cooked dinner - leftovers she had frozen more than a week ago. And after eating came back to the game. This time the conversation began to pick up again.

"Sam," she began. He looked at her. "I want to ask you a few questions." He nodded sliding his rook across the board to put her king in check. It was poorly placed - he hadn't see the bishop lurking across the board. "About Dean." He stilled, his hand poised over his remaining knight.

"Like what?" he invited. It was begrudging, however.

"I want to know what he's like," she explained. "I just... I don't know. I feel like I need to understand more."

"Understand what? How he could turn himself into a demon?"

"No. I..." she hesitated. "I think I get that part. Maybe not all of it. But anyone worth anything faced with saving themselves versus saving the world... I mean - you know what you do. You know what you guys do. It's awful. But it's so admirable." He waited. "I want to know what he's like. What does he find funny? What kind of food does he like? Brunettes or blondes?" Sam did start to talk about him. About the pranks they would play on one another sometimes - about his penchant for terrible food, but the fact he could cook like you wouldn't believe. Good things, happy things. But as Sam spoke and he tried to skip over all of Dean's destructive self-sacrifice Sam was left thinking of his own mistreatment of his brother. His mood was darkening. She could see it. So she started to change the subject.

"So - about you teaching me to fight." It was an appropriate jump - Sam was just talking about how they'd he'd broken his hand.

"What about it? Check-mate." She stared at the board, frowning for a moment but then refocused.

"I still really want that to happen."

"I don't think it's necessary. You're not really going to be in a lot of danger."

"That's what I told myself when my girlfriends were taking self-defense freshman year. Then a demon attacked me and I went on the run with an angel."

"I just... you know, I'll be there, right? And if not me Othniel or someone else."

"Not always," she said softly. He thought he understood her reinstated interest now. He looked down and she shifted to her feet. "Sorry," Elanor spouted, leaning heavily on the table. Sam merely quirked his brows at her.

"For what?" He inquired.

"For yesterday," specified Elanor. She wore a sullen, somber expression. Sam watched her face for signs of trauma.

"None of that was your doing," he told her, standing slowly. Her posture and insecurity made him feel weak. Unsteady.

"I shouldn't have gone," she told him. "I shouldn't have been out there at all."

"Elanor," he sighed. "I'm sorry it happened at all - but it wasn't your fault. He's an ass. A monster." Elanor thought she saw something click inside Sam. She knew not all monsters were supernatural, but she wasn't sure if Sam was that much of a vigilante. He was one, of course. But she'd never imagined him taking the life of a human being. She didn't speak, moving to her bedroom. He had begun to follow her but stopped short when she stepped into her room.

"Wait," she mumbled as he started to turn. "Would you just sit with me for a little while?" She felt small and vulnerable. And underneath the raw hurt, she felt useless.

"Yeah," he said. He hesitated only a moment before sliding into bed with her. And though she remained beneath the blankets, and he stayed atop them, he drew her into his arms nestling her head into the crook of his neck. He was careful to keep their relationship platonic. For her sake and his own. For the mission. And though the night was closing in around them, he could tell she wanted to talk.

"Is it weird that I'm a virgin?" she asked. He didn't know what to tell her. Dean would have given her a decisive yes. She seemed so uncertain right now... though when they had talked at the bar she hadn't seemed bothered at all. He didn't know why she chose to ask him.

"Is it that bad?" He asked, choosing a Socratic approach. She sighed softly. He could smell the papaya scent of her shampoo.

"No. Maybe a little," she admitted. "I mean usually it's not. It doesn't preoccupy my mind. I just... When men are particularly forward it's like I don't know what to do with them."

"Like Jerry?" Sam asked, wondering if that's what she considered to be just 'too forward'. But she flinched disecernibly when he said the name and he regretted it immediately. He tightened his hold on her.

"Not just him. He's an extreme case, clearly," she replied. "But even men I've considered attractive who pushed their limits... I don't know. I've shut them out." Sam wasn't sure how to respond. He thought for a moment, but she continued. "And, you know, I always figured I'd fall in love and the puzzle pieces would just fall together but I... I mean, clearly I didn't, right? And now - really for the past few years - it's like it's too late. I missed the boat."

"I don't think you've missed your chance, Elanor. Maybe you're just not interested in that kind of intimacy," he said softly. "Why are you thinking about this right now, anyway?"

"Of course I'm interested. - I mean, I think I am. Maybe not as much as other people... I don't know. That's the thing. I don't know how I'm supposed to Feel!" She expulsed. He waited. "Right now I'm on it because of yesterday and what Crowley said earlier." Sam thought back. He had vaguely hinted at her possible lack of experience but Sam had just assumed it was more of a youth thing in Crowley's mind. "I feel as though Jerry's behavior is my fault because I didn't know how to respond to him." Her voice was small as she spoke. As though she didn't quite want to admit it to herself. She knew it was a skewed way of looking at things but it didn't change her feelings at the moment.

"You handled everything perfectly," Sam affirmed.

"Then why-" he cut her off this time. Still somewhat unsure of his place.

"Nothing that happened was your fault. I guess I should have handled it before it escalated. But on the list of people whose fault it could have been - you are certainly not in the lead."

"But -" again he cut her off.

"There is no explanation where you're at fault. Elanor you are beautiful but no amount of exemplary appearance or even hateful rejection will ever excuse his choices." She was crying. He couldn't see her face and hadn't felt her quiver but he knew just the same that she was crying.

"I just feel so broken. Or stupid. Or both for feeling either." He tried to wrap his mind around her position, and found himself thinking of his quest to kill Lillith.

"I might know how you feel," he began. He told her about the seals, about Lucifer, about Ruby and Lillith. He told her forlornly about the demon blood. He didn't bother to elaborate widely, merely recounted the chronological events. He finished the tale with his decision to say yes to Lucifer and throw him in the cage. What a bedtime story. As she started to drift to sleep she thought about her past dreams but before she could slip away a thought occured to her. She gasped suddenly and he started, shifting both of them from their physical comfort. But she had just remembered something.

"Lucifer is an angel, right?"


	8. Chapter 8: The Only One

"Lucifer is an angel, right?" She asked, sitting up and reaching for her journal. He nodded slowly, not catching the direction of her thoughts but fearing them all the same.

"Were you - are you his? I mean, you went for it, right?" She wasn't sure what the word should have been.

"I'm... Well I was his vessel, before Castiel and Death pulled me piece-by-piece from the pit."

"I dreamed of you," she said. "I accused you of being an angel but... I was afraid." Sam didn't speak, merely listened as she read out her dream.

"A white suit?" He asked. He felt as though Dean had once told him a similar dream.

"Shit. Have you ever had a dream come true before?"

"Um... Once I was getting snow cones with Regina and it came true. Except she got blue coconut instead of raspberry." He shook his head, shifting off of the bed.

"Elanor - this might be why the demons want you. You might be some kind of prophet that even the angels don't really know about."

"That's ridiculous," she sputtered, watching him rise to his feet. She knew he was supressing the urge to pace in her small quarters. "Othniel told me that the prophets weren't being activated anymore."

"Look," he began. "Dean visited the future - where I had truly succumbed to Lucifer. He'll know. He'll be able to tell us." He left her after that, reinstating his efforts to find the perfect arena. The basic demon trap wasn't good enough but hopefully the spell - and the cuffs - and the complex trap would be enough. She arose a few hours later, catching barely enough sleep to keep her functional.

"I'm going to help you learn to fight," he told her, pouring the bleary-eyed Elanor a cup of coffee. "Do you have comfortable clothes?" He led her to another area of the bunker - across the hall from the shooting range. She looked with interest in that direction but he shook his head. That was for later. He led her into a room, and rolled out a mat that had to be from the forties. It was a soft malleable leather, stuffed with some plush material she couldn't externally identify. He talked her through the basic stature - how to balance her weight and use her small size against any opponent.

"You're right-handed, right? That's what you throw. Lead with it, and never drop your guard," he added lifting her left arm to her eye-level, and tapping against it to be sure she held it firmly in place. "Swing." She checked her footing, aligned her torso and let the force flow from her foot into her fist. He dodged what would have been a solid right hook with ease and let her recenter herself. "Again," he commanded. "Hit me." She tried repeatedly. And as he egged her on she worked harder until suddenly she clipped his jaw. She drew back after the blow landed, bracing her fist in her left hand and apologized.

"Oh my god, Sam," she all but screamed. "I'm so sorry!"

"No, it's good," he told her. "Respectable." He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, working it up and down. "Are you hurt?" He took her hand, looking it over, flexing the joint. He knew the pain of training a weak body. He'd been a spry child - forced to train with his older and naturally athletic brother. She said no, however - and repositioned herself. This struck up the pattern for the next few days. She wondered why, and after rolling her ankle she asked him as they iced it.

"Why did you decide to teach me to fight?" She asked. Sam didn't respond immediately, as he wrapped the ice around her faintly swelling ankle.

"You plan to be there," he said finally. "You plan to be involved. I want you to be able to stand a chance if things get out of hand. And maybe it's futile but... If I have to decide between you walking in defenseless and walking in with some idea of how to defend yourself, I'm going to choose the latter." She nodded, accepting his logic. But there were holes in his plan.

"But if things do get out of hand... Dean has more power than either of us could stand against. I won't stand a chance at all," she reasoned.

"It's not just Dean I'm training you for. He might bring other demons, and -" Sam stopped short, clearly reconsidering his path.

"And?" She prompted.

"There are more things in the world than demons that you should be able to defend yourself against." She knew humans were on his list. She was sure of it. He encouraged her to memorize exorcisms, they chanted them as they trained. She wasn't out of shape - but Elanor was impressed with how her body responded to the training. She didn't firm up quite as much as she had imagine - but she was stronger. She felt stronger and healthier. But the migraines continued.

She awoke to a tap on her door.

"It's open," she called. Sam opened the door, letting the hall light in. She shielded her eyes.

"Are we training today?" he asked. She didn't answer immediately. "Are you sick?"

"I'm having a bad headache," she replied. He left her in peace and she rose a few hours later. Brushing noon. She was craving healthy foods, so she satisfied herself with salads and fruit - leaving a large helping for Sam to come to. For a man his size, she mused, he sure was easily soothed with rabbit food. He walked in not too long after she sat to eat - his hair was wet, as were his shoulders.

"Feeling better?"

"Quite a bit," she replied. "Rain?" He nodded. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing important," he said. "You still have no idea what the headaches are about?" She shrugged.

"I haven't exactly revisited a doctor," she told him. "But I doubt any current discussion would be different than any other."

"Well, I just think it's something to look into if you can find out a way to. I used to have headaches and visions. They stopped, of course, but still."

"You had visions?" He nodded. She didn't press any further.

"I think we should start prepping to summon Dean," Sam said. "I think we're ready." She nodded. He had started teaching her marksmanship - she took to it well. Though she was a little clumsy with the hand-to-hand, she handled the guns he put her behind quite well. She was brutish with the knife, and weak when it came to the sword - but something about the gun made her feel more in control than any other weapon. They made demon bombs together, just in case. The second Saturday in September, they travelled the few hours to the church Sam had selected. It was an ideal location, shielded by a hill-range and tall trees and wilderness. It was a few miles from a reservation. They set to work, painting traps and prepping the spell. And then Sam sat on the hood of the Nova with Elanor and they watched the sun set. He was carving a handful of bullets.

"What's that?" she asked. She was lit splendidly by the burning sunset. Her copper hair was set aflame in the dying sun, and where she could occasionally pass it off as a strawberry blonde the fuchsia in the light pulled it that much closer to a hot orange.

"Demon binding," he said. "If we get desparate, we'll shoot him to hold him down."

"Will that work on him?"

"It worked on a knight of hell," he said. "We had to cut her head off to keep her from pulling it out of herself, but it worked."

"Wouldn't that kill him," Elanor pondered. Sam didn't look up.

"If it comes to it - we'll have to." She didn't know if she believed him. She knew she wouldn't be able to kill him. She wouldn't do that to Sam. Then his phone began to ring.

"Crowley," Sam answered. They talked shortly - it seemed Crowley had a lead on Cain. He stood, moving toward the church. Elanor decided to give him a few minutes. She knew he had to face confession before they would even summon Dean. She moved a few minutes later, bringing in the bullets she had finished. She loaded each of their guns, and set Sam's on the table they had dragged into the otherwise cleared sanctuary.

Sam began the enchantment, speaking latin more clearly and confidently than Elanor had ever heard. Including her latin-professor. She started to mix the ingredients, but he took over that part as well, partioning out her blood, mixing the crytals and herbs and other raw materials. At last he dipped an angelic feather into holy oil, and set it aflame. They watched it fall into the altar's offering, and ignite the other ingredients. For a second she thought it didn't work. But then the ground began to shake.

The room flickered ominously and then Sam's older brother appeared. Now Elanor had a chance to really take in his appearance. He was strikingly handsome. Quite tall and well-built, though not as tall as his brother. His hair was a short tousle of sandy brown and his eyes shone an inky black. She shivered. And noticed vaguely that he didn't have the blade.

"Sammy," he said at last. "And a girl. That's my boy." He walked forward and stopped short, looking down at the bloody marks on the floor. "This is new!" He edged the line and his boot was singed. "Creative."

Sam began to chant, citing the latin script they had written. Dean simply continued to smile. If not for the forboding black of his eyes Elanor would have sworn he was simply happy to see his little brother. She and Sam walked in opposite directions, crossing paths as they circled the captured demon. Dean's eyes followed Sam, turning to watch him move. Elanor made the first move as Dean followed Sam's figure. She leapt, snapping the demon-cuff to his left wrist. He whirled to her, reaching out and snagging by the hair, and then tightening his fingers around her throat. She reached in vain for the hand-cuff. Sam acted then; stepping close and putting the collar on his brother. Dean grabbed Sam as well, then. And though he couldn't affect them with his mind, his demonic strength remained and he had no difficulty keeping hold of both of them. Elanor managed to work out a few strangled words.

"You'll never get free if you kill us," she gasped.

"You're certainly expendable," Dean said. "Sucks, really. Such a hot little piece, isn't she, Sam?"

"You're wrong," Elanor managed. Her face was nearly magenta. Sam was stifled but Dean released him. Sam collapsed, gasping. Dean still had no intention of killing Sam.

"She's right," Sam affirmed. "If you kill her and I can't cure you - I'll lock you down and no one will ever come for you." Sam was rising shakily to his feet. Dean dropped Elanor and she crumpled at his feet. Sam dragged her away - helping her up. They started the ritual, and as Sam drew out the blood, Elanor watched Dean. His face revealed nothing - but he was looking directly at her. When Sam crept close to his brother, delivering the first injection, his forearms lit up internally. The demon and Elanor both looked at him, and though Sam glanced at his arms - shaking a bit with the intensity of this old pain - he didn't comment. Merely connected the other clasp of the demon cuffs to Dean's right hand.

"Sam, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Sam didn't respond. Elanor didn't entirely understand. Dean turned his head to her. "He's killing himself." Elanor's heart hitched, her throat constricted but she had promised.

"Then let it be worth something," she said to Dean. He frowned.

"It won't be. You think you can cure the bearer of the Mark of Cain? Don't you think it would just follow me back into humanity? It's better this way, Sammy." Elanor sat on the table, helping Sam draw out his blood, but she was silent. She wanted to think that Dean was just trying to wriggle out of the chains they had on him - but she wasn't sure if that was really the case. However demonic Dean was... he still aimed to spare his brother.

"So, Dean," Sam began. "You saw the future, right? Where I'm satan's bitch." Dean looked at his brother, his face impossible to read.

"That's the past now, Sam," Dean replied.

"But you saw it in the future as well, right?" Dean didn't answer. "Was Lucifer wearing a white suit?" Still Dean didn't respond. "That's what you saw in the future."

"That future doesn't exist anymore," Dean told him. "Why?"

"Maybe I've been talking to a psychic," Sam said. Dean looked to Elanor immediately.

"Your psychic would be wrong. And I doubt it, you don't like to trust people," Dean added, staring at Elanor. "Which is the start of a good subject. Why haven't you hit that yet?" Elanor looked at Sam. "I can smell the purity on her. Yeah, sweety, any demon you come across will know."

"Sam, I'll be outside." She stepped outside for a bit of air, and watched clouds passing over the moon. It was a little over half-full. She didn't want to make Dean's curing about her. Her problems or her past or her future. This was about Sam and Dean. She breathed deeply - and then she heard howling in the distance. She didn't want to have to face off with wolves, or coyotes, or whatever wild dog sounded so fierce.

She went back in, but Sam looked a bit worried. They were four hours in - there was no discernable change in Dean, but Sam looked sick. He glanced at her and saw a bit of fear in her face.

"What's up?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Wildlife. Wolves or something," she said. He stilled, staring at her, and then whirling to Dean.

"Do you have any control over hell-hounds?" Sam asked. Dean smiled largely.

"Wouldn't that be the first thing you got your hands on, as a demon?" Dean returned. "Come on, man. They're awesome."

"You don't even like dogs," Sam said, grimacing.

"Eh, I got over that, mostly." Dean whistled, it started high and lowered gradually. Elanor's hair raised, the skin of her back prickled. Sam tossed her a bag.

"Line the space," Sam order. She did as he was told. She lined the doors and windows first, and then set to work sweeping a wide circle through the entire room. Dean laughed as she worked.

"She's a natural, Sam!" he taunted. "She sure looks like a natural."

"Shut up," Elanor sighed, finishing her task.

"Guess she doesn't like attention," Dean remarked. Sam stepped forward with another dose of blood. Dean didn't struggle. "You're really only hurting yourself. I wonder - can you die if I don't become human again? I don't think it's gonna work." Elanor didn't want to say aloud that she agreed - but she did. Dean turned to her. "Once I get out of here, make sure he drops the trials. Or he won't heal. Your body was back to normal, Sam. Couldn't you have just left it alone?" Elanor had never encountered a demon who still seemed so... humane. There was a growl just outside the door. There were a few tense moments, but it didn't take long for the invisible dog to break into the room. Elanor screamed as the black powder she'd lain out blew away. "Pounce," Dean said. Elanor was under the fierce power of the unseeable beast - but it didn't tear at her skin as Sam had feared, it merely held her down. Dean looked to Sam.

"Let her go, Dean," Sam growled.

"Fair trade, kiddo. You unlock me, and then we'll talk. I'll stay in the circle - I just want the chains off." Sam hesitated, and the sound of snapping jaws could be heard. He stepped forward, taking off the collar, and the cuffs. "See, isn't that better?" He whistled again, and Elanor felt the gross weight pull away from her.

"Thanks," Elanor said softly. She'd meant it for Sam.

"No problem. Any friend of Sam's is a friend of mine. You know, Sam had a thing for demons. Which, I guess I get, since most of the girls he gets anywhere with end up dead." Sam clenched his jaw, she could see it working tensely. "Now he should just think of us as one big happy family. I never thought he'd pluck out a little redhead, though. I always thought he was more of a blonde lover. Maybe he lost the taste, though. Pity about Jess," he added, looking back at Sam. "But it'll be me who takes out this one."

Sam stepped forward, another dose of blood ready to be plunged into Dean's neck. Dean moved, however, and grabbed Sam around the shoulder. It was tense to watch but there didn't seem to be an option. Dean stomped his foot and the decrepit wooden floor began to crack. Elanor leapt for the gun - but the break in the trap allowed Dean his powers. He flung her back. She flew through the double doors, beyond the sanctuary. She ran back and arrived in time to see the altar spill. Magically burning blood and holy oil seeped onto the floor, and spread, lighting the room. Sam and Dean grappled, Sam pulled the demon knife, and in a moment of magnanimous luck plunged the blade into Dean's abdomen. They collapsed together, Dean's form highlighting, Sam's hands dulling until they were simple flesh again.

Dean didn't move, and Sam began to weep. But with Sam's face buried against his brother's chest he didn't see the black smoke begin to spill forth from his form. It filtered up and was gone. She wasn't sure what it meant, she wasn't sure if Sam had noticed. It wasn't a violent exodus like she'd seen after Regina's possession. But he seemed to be gone, at least.

"Sam," uttered Elanor, soft and unintrusive.

Sam knelt by Dean's lifeless form, the fire still burning all around them. Elanor stood lamely by the door, and watched in empathy as Sam wept by Dean's side. But her emotions changed when the smoky entity that was now Dean's soul reappeared. The room was aflame, and Sam was oblivious when the demon-soul flowed toward Dean again. She shouted but Sam didn't hear her, couldn't. She looked once back at the door, and glanced at the flaming floor, before she then walked forward, stepping hastily through the flames. She clawed at Sam's shoulders, but he didn't shift until Dean was moving again. His eyes opened, their onyx black reflecting the hot lick of fire. Sam pressed against the bloody figure hoping to restrain what was left of his brother, but he was overpowered. Elanor had tears in her eyes as she screamed her objections. Dean turned his face to the little woman, and then grinned.

"Sam!" she shouted. "We have to go! Sam!" He looked at her, through the fog in his eyes, and Dean disappeared from the room. "Sam!" She gripped his wrist, the length of his forearm firm and unforgiving. He turned, finally seeing the fire.

"We have to go," he murmured. She could have rolled her eyes, but she just said yes, and allowed him to lead her through the fickle low-burning flames. The fire was building around them, however, and they had to escape the structure through a window. Sam broke it out easily with his elbow and Elanor was vaguely thankful that there was no flashback. They stood by the Nova and watched the small building truly ignite. Sam was hurting, Elanor could see it. But this run-in with Dean seemed to have inspired Sam to new heights. He knew he could find his brother, and he was still confident he would eventually be able to redeem his soul.


	9. Chapter 9: Dead End Justice

Chapter 9

Sam watched as Elanor fell into a fitful slumber. The night's events had left him restless and paranoid. Dean would be ready to kill Elanor, Sam knew. For the first time in his life he truly wondered if he could kill his brother. He hated himself for the thought of it - but he also loathed himself for letting Elanor so close to the potential source of her demise. He hated himself for a lot of things these days. Letting Dean go down the path that got them here... that was the biggest part. The peace he had achieved since his soul had been restored was destroyed, and in its place had grown a sense of revulsion. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he dreamed of all the times he had failed his brother. His mind played back to him his own declaration that he would let his brother die. And in this dream - as he moved from one room to the next - he found himself confronted with the yellow-eyed version of himself. They fought, the tenuous balance he often fought so hard to maintain was being broken down by the personification of his own hatred. His failure. And his tainted soul.

He awoke to hands pressing against his shoulders. He reared, ready to attack, and found a startled Elanor, lit by the raunchy light from the motel sign beyond their window.

"Sam! Sam it's okay. It's just a dream, we're safe," she told him. "You're safe." She ran her hands up to the sides of his face. "You're safe," she repeated, her eyes wide. His were wild; terrified and terrifying. On impulse she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. His response was instantaneous. He kissed her hungrily, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her body closer. He reached a hand up, delving into her bed-swept hair and guiding her greedily. But then, just as suddenly, he released her - tilting his head away. She gasped, nearly panting. She wasn't embarrassed until he spoke.

"That probably wasn't a good idea," he murmured, though his voice was heavy from sleep, his breath was still ragged from the dream though the measure had changed for the kiss.

"Why not?" She asked. He looked at her again. The scarlet light lit her features seductively: the shadow that fell between her breasts, even in the nightgown. The hue brought out the red in her lips and the flame in her hair but quelled the innocent blue of her eyes. She certainly didn't look pure. He felt the hitch low in his gut, but shifted away from her. He aimed his comment cruelly.

"Because you're a silly virgin who doesn't know what she's getting herself into." He knew it would strike a cord. Had counted on it.

"I just needed to bring you back," she all but whimpered. She knew she shouldn't have been hurt by his dismissal - that it emerged from concern and his own issues - but she was. She moved back to her own bed. He knew he had hurt her feelings, but it comforted him to think that she wouldn't kiss him again. It was a path they couldn't go down. Especially now; he needed her chastity. She was quiet in the morning - they woke for check-out and made the drive back to the bunker. Sam had brought breakfast burritos for them, and coffee. She offered a paltry thanks as she made sure she had all of her belongings. The hours of driving were uncomfortable, though he let the girl-power stream out of her stereo without a fuss.

They didn't talk about the kiss, and neither broached the subject of the failed curing of Dean as they drove. She now worried about Sam, who still clenched his hands when he thought she wasn't looking.

"Let's stop for lunch," she said - they were passing a grouping of rest stops and motels and food joints. He pulled to the service road.

"Which one?" he asked. She pointed to the nearest diner, and he obliged her quickly. They ordered. As she nursed the tea she'd requested she thought of how to start the conversation. She wasn't going to let them fall into an awkward stupor. She didn't have the patience for it. And she knew that if she let it happen and to continue, she would get angry - and tell him exactly what she thought about everything, in not-so-gentle ways.

"So about last night," she began. He took a bite of his chicken breast but glanced at her to show he was listening. "Do you think your blood was getting through to him at all?" Sam shrugged. "I mean - wasn't Crowley like the baddest of the bad, and even he cracked within a few hours."

"Yeah," Sam answered, chewing. "But Crowley wasn't a knight." Elanor nodded.

"True - but he was already king. And is Dean actually a knight? I think we need to find Cain," Elanor continued. "Maybe..." she paused as an idea came to her. "What if - what if we try to cure Cain?" He grimaced at his food.

"I don't see how that's even possible."

"I mean, think about it - Cain is retired. He doesn't want to be a demon, he doesn't want to be violent anymore. He just wants to be left alone. Maybe... you know, maybe he wouldn't mind a second chance." Sam thought of it for a moment.

"Cain is a really dangerous demon," Sam said.

"But he doesn't want to be violent. If we can find him - I think there's a chance. I think it's worth looking into." Sam nodded. They made the rest of the drive peacably, and Sam called just as they had begun to settle in. However, rather than answering his phone, Crowley merely appeared in the main room.

"Hello kids," he greeted them, sitting in the nearest chair. Elanor sat on the far end, he smiled at her. She would have been charmed if she didn't think he was such a snake. "How did last night go?"

"What do you have on Cain?" Sam asked. He wasn't interested in the game.

"You don't have to be so rude," Crowley said. "But I figure it went as I had expected it would. I take it the trap held him, though. Since she's still vertical." Sam waited.

"Cain?" Elanor prompted. Crowley sighed.

"I have coordinates," Crowley said. "Seems he's twiddling his thumbs somewhere up in the Yukon. I could take you now, if you like? I'll be hanging back, of course. Can't be seen or anything. This is all quite covert." Elanor and Sam looked at one another. They shrugged.

"Might as well," Elanor said. "There's nothing we'd be able to do to save our necks anyway - if he decided to take us out." They stood. Sam didn't announce his plan, but the moment they touched down - in snow too thick to be happy about, Sam snapped a demon handcuff onto Crowley's wrist.

"Oh come on!" he called. "This is hogwash!" Sam dragged him to a tree.

"I just need you to stay put," Sam explained, clipping him awkwardly to a low-hanging branch. At the angle he'd left Crowley it would be pretty difficult to break off the branch. But certainly not impossible.

"Are you sure it'll hold him?" Elanor asked softly. Sam looked back at his handy work, and then shot Crowley in the foot. The man howled angrily.

"That should do it." It was a charmed bullet. "Which way?" Crowley glared, but pointed sullenly to the east. They walked, Elanor wishing she had the thought to pick a coat up, at least. They arrived at a small cabin before long, however, and smoke pumped happily out of the narrow chimney. Sam looked back at Elanor, and then knocked on the door. The door opened quickly, and they were met by a tall graying man. He had stern eyes and a downturned mouth.

"Hi," Sam began. The man cut his eyes to Elanor, however, and reached for her.

"Oh," he called, dragging her into his arms. Sam tensed - unsure whether to fight or not. Elanor found herself being awkwardly cradled by the man.

"Uh, sir?" she began. He pulled back, looking down at her. She wore a truly bewildered expression, but he had tears in his eyes.

"I thought I would never see you again," he said. He dragged her into the house, Sam followed awkwardly behind.

"I think there's been some kind of mistake," she said. "We've never met." He had begun to bustle around the tiny kitchen, and now held a small jar of honey. Now he turned to look at Elanor again.

"Right, of course. Well - who are you and what do you want?" Elanor was befuddled by his quick jump, though he was still looking at her rather... softly.

"My name is Sam Winchester," Sam began. Cain's expression changed - anger. "My brother is Dean Winchester. I... I'm trying to find a way to save him." Cain let Sam speak, and looked again at Elanor's face before responding.

"There is no way to save Dean," Cain said. "He'll be a demon soon."

"Th-that's the thing," Elanor put in. "He's already a demon."

"There's no way to kill him, then. And there's no way to save a demon," Cain told them. He spooned honey into the tea that had already been steeping when they arrived. He handed Elanor the small cup. She hesitated - but because he waited she tasted it.

"That's really good - what is this?" she asked. Then shook her head, refocusing. "And there is a way to cure a demon."

"There is no way to cure a demon," Cain reiterated.

"You are Cain, right?" Sam asked. Cain looked as though he didn't want to face Sam at all.

"Yes, I'm Cain. I bestowed upon Dean the mark of Cain at his request. I want nothing now but to live out the rest of my life in peace - and one day die. Which is more than I have been able to hope for in the last millenia."

"What if we could cure you," Sam started. Cain seemed angry. Sam slowed his pace and glanced at Elanor.

"We're trying to find a solution for the situation Dean is in. He's new to the demon thing - he doesn't want out yet but... but Sam can't just let his brother live the life of a demon. Eventually the guilt will catch up to him and even if we one day save him - his past will destroy him."

"The tea is good, right? What's your name?" Cain asked.

"Elanor," she told him.

"Elanor. That's pleasant. Befitting such a pretty face." He seemed sad for a moment, but sat at his simple wooden table with a cup of the same tea. He didn't offer any to Sam.

"Um, Cain, sir," she pressed. "We just... we want to know if you would be willing to let us cure you."

"How do you cure a demon?" Cain asked. Elanor looked to Sam - he was better with the technical stuff. He explained the process, the pure blood, the consecrated ground - all of it. Cain listened patiently. He slowly shook his head. "While it may work on a regular demon, I doubt it will find success with me - or with Dean, now. I'm sorry." Sam wasn't ready to give up, however.

"Look, this has to happen. Do you have any idea how to make what I told you more effective for a knight of hell?" Sam pressed. "Can't you offer us any help for the mess you've made?" Cain rose to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. It at once turned to ash, and crumbled to the ground. Elanor was startled, she dropped her cup of tea. It clattered to the ground, the sweet liquid spilling over his unvarnished wooden floor.

"Sorry," she said immediately - looking around for something to clean it up with. Then froze.

"Boy," Cain roared at Sam. He seemed taller than Sam suddenly. "Do not come into my home and attempt to scold me! Dean made his choice, and begged for the mark. I warned him that the consequences would be dire! I told him to take the choice heavily but he, as I did, acted rashly in an effort to save his brother. You and Abel both should be eternally grateful for the efforts of your brothers! But now it is Dean's turn to bear the brunt of punishment on behalf of his loved ones! That is the legacy he selected and the inheritance he has earned!" Though Sam hadn't faltered visibly, Elanor knew his spine had chilled. Hers certainly had.

"I am grateful," Sam answered quietly. "And humbled by this and every other great thing Dean has done for me and everyone else on this God forsaken planet. But I will not stand by as my brother's humanity is stripped from him, and he is left to the eternal rung for the dogs of the earth to tear at him."

"Please," Elanor piped in. "Please, help us. We can't fail this time."

"What is your investment in this?" Cain asked, his voice sober and calm again. Elanor hesitated for a moment, and Sam looked at her - suddenly realizing the validity of the question. Cain didn't seem to be in a rush. He knelt, sopped up the tea she had spilled, and moved to fix her another cup - then moved to the living room. Sam and Elanor followed. She sat across from Cain in his rocking chair, on the quaintly simplified sofa. Cain looked at her, clearly awaiting an answer.

"I'm... over a year ago a demon possessed my aunt - my dearest loved one. Practically my sister, really. I was rescued by an angel, and left to prevent other demons from using her as a weapon - from torturing her or her children. I came to the protection of Sam, here. Dean had already gone." She hesitated, knowing this didn't actually explain her involvement. "I don't know why I'm so invested," she admitted. "I feel an uncanny urge to assist Sam with this. I'm not interested in hunting - I would still be adamantly hiding if not for this - but... I can't not try to save Dean. I have to try. I have to help Sam." Cain looked over her. She was confused by his expression, and his obvious preference for her. She wondered mutely if it was because she was female - but that didn't explain how he seemed to have recognized her before.

"Do you think it's your destiny?" Cain asked. Elanor looked at her hands - still a bit pink from the cold outside.

"I don't know what my destiny is," Elanor replied. "I'm not sure if I really believe in destiny - the way someone should." She drank deeply. Nothing she'd ever tasted had met her preferences so completely.

"You said that you couldn't fail this time," Cain began. "Does that mean you tried it once already?" Elanor nodded. Sam didn't want to share all the details, but Elanor trusted Cain for some reason. Maybe she was being drugged. She looked down at the cup.

"What is this tea?" she asked.

"How did you fail?" Cain returned. He didn't seem to be avoiding the question - just disinterested in it.

"Sam's blood, I think. Maybe we need to do something more to it, rather than just have it purified by confession. The trap held him. If we'd been more secure in our location we wouldn't have lost him at all," she continued.

"You could hold him?" Cain asked. He was surprised. She nodded.

"A demon trap. But not a normal one. We had painted it in my blood - virgin's blood," she corrected. He smiled.

"Well that's the key, then." Elanor glanced at Sam, suddenly uncertain. "A willing human with a pure soul. Or, I imagine, if you could somehow do away with the mark, if curing a demon is possible, the normal ritual would accomplish it. You'll have to find a new holder of the mark. I don't think any but God himself could destroy it or the blade."

"So you'll let us try?" Sam asked.

"I'll decide," Cain said. "Now get out."

"Do - do you want our number?" Elanor asked. Cain flicked his hand, however, and they were thrown out the front door into the snow. She sputtered as Sam dragged her out of the snow bank.

"Let's get back to Crowley," Sam said, glancing back at the house. "I think he likes you." They returned to Crowley who was in a very bad mood.

"Took you two long enough!" he snapped. Sam knelt, fishing out the bullet despite Crowley's cries of pain. Then he unlocked the cuffs.

"Back to the bunker, Bullseye!" Elanor called. Crowley glared at her. When they stood in the light of the bunker again, Crowley sat to look at his foot.

"I wasn't going to abandon you guys," Crowley growled. "Maybe you, sasquatch, but not the girl. These are italian leather."

"That reminds me," Elanor began, picking up Sam's pistol and aiming it at Crowley.

"Whoa, whoa, hey," he said, pressing his palms outward.

"I want to know what the demons want with me," she stated. "I want to know what you know about me."

"I know you're a libra and you like really gaudy artwork." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You were never huge on the romantic comedy thing, unlike most women your age."

"I'm serious, Crowley." Sam just watched it unfold. He would have gone for popcorn if he didn't think Crowley would try something stupid. Instead he simply sat, watching Elanor's perfect stance.

"Look, love, I'd really enjoy telling you all about it, but I just can't. It's not my place."

"Not your place?" she demanded. "You're the freaking king of hell!" She cocked the gun, resetting her feet.

"Look, I know it seems like I should have all the answers. But I don't on this one, okay. Seems like you were Aboddon's first order of business. And I still don't know why."

"So I'm not being chased any more?"

"Oh no, there's still a price on your head, dear. I can't let on that I'm working with you two, and I wouldn't mind picking your brain apart. But that's just because I know not all of Aboddon's ideas were bad. If she wanted you - alive, it seems - then it means there's something special about you."

"Bullshit," Elanor spat.

"Listen to me or not - but I don't have much information for you. By the way," he added, standing. "How did the talk with Cain go?" Elanor left, leaving Sam to tell Crowley whatever he thought was necessary. When she returned Crowley had gone, and Sam sat in solitude at the table. She didn't bother to sit.

"I'm heading to bed," she told him. So the days passed. Occasionally they would discuss how to brush up the ritual of curing a demon - how to tailor it specifically to Dean's advanced demon state. And without warning one morning, the angel Castiel was standing in the shower room when Elanor stepped out from her morning shower.

"Castiel!" she squawked, clamping the towel to her body. He turned to her.

"I need to speak with Sam," Castiel said. She struggled into her robe, belting it tightly, and let the towel drop from below.

"Of course," Elanor replied, she hastened down to the training rooms, Castiel short on her heels. Without a word Castiel stepped to Sam, pressing his palm to his forehead. Sam looked at Elanor in bewilderment but didn't fight Cas's advance.

"Cas - what?"

"You should have called me." Elanor and Sam looked at one another. Elanor wasn't even sure if Castiel knew.

"Castiel, I'm fine," Sam said.

"No. You're not. But you will be if you don't try it again."

"What does that mean?" Elanor asked, leaning back against the door-frame.

"It means the burns he started inside of him again will heal if he sets down any aspect of the trials. That means," Cas continued, stepping closer to Sam in a more physically dominating way than Elanor had ever witnessed. "That you cannot attempt to cure Dean or any other demon. I did not question you when you said it would be better if I focused on the angels, rather than Dean. I trusted you to handle this."

"How nice," Sam began, sarcasm ready at the helm. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

"Do you not think I sent Elanor to you for a reason," Castiel said. "She is the key to Dean's betterment." Elanor's jaw dropped.


	10. Chapter 10: Island of Lost Souls

Chapter 10

"What?" Elanor yelped. "What? Castiel what?" Castiel looked at Elanor and then away. "How am I the key?"

"I... don't know yet."

"That doesn't make any sense," Sam put in.

"My powers are off - and weakening. I can't afford to heal you, Sam."

"Castiel why am I the key?" Elanor shouted, stepping up to the angel in the trenchcoat.

"I told you I don't know yet. But your essence calls out to me and the other angels. Othniel has taken much of the beacon that you put out - I can't read it. And I doubt, even if I were to read your soul directly, that I would be able to discern the nature of your power."

"But I can save Dean?" Castiel looked to the left, thinking.

"I believe so." Castiel turned to leave, Sam and Elanor chased behind him.

"What do you know?" Elanor demanded. Sam caught Castiel by the arm. He turned, his eyes a frightening glow.

"Sam, if I knew more I would tell you." They let him leave, though Elanor was far from satisfied. She researched obsessively, but knew there were no clues to go on. She needed a direction. Days passed and Sam went on a hunt, but it didn't go over well. He called Elanor for assistance.

"Can you do me a favor?" he asked. He needed some specific supplies that he'd run out of - as he walked her through their location and their prep he finalized his request with a delivery. She agreed, stepping into her room to bring a bag. It was a quick thing, she figured - but brought a set of pajamas just in case. He was about four hours away and she made the drive, blasting Pat Benatar the whole way. She arrived at the hotel he'd specified and saw the nondescript hybrid she was sure he had driven parked in front of room seventeen. She knocked. He swung the door open. His face was rather bruised but she chose not to comment. Sam thanked her for the supplies, and offered her the bed to sleep on if she wanted to rest before going back. She took the opportunity readily, laying out on the bed.

The hunt resolved - but as Sam rested and Elanor stepped out to get food something strange happened. She saw a smoky red cloud barrelling towards her. She turned and attempted to run but the smoke caught up with her. It forced itself in, filling her mind and body with a numbing sensation. A disconnection. She walked but had no intention to, she opened the door to the motel room and stepped inside. She cursed Sam for not putting down demon traps. She was slowly understanding. She was possessed. And somehow in the pit of her mind she knew who it was that had her. It was Crowley. He woke Sam.

"Please!" she heard her voice cry. "Sam!" Crowley stepped away but Elanor was now fighting for everything she was worth. Somewhere deep in her mind she thought she was grappling with him, locked in some intangible box. But closer to the surface the struggle was less comprehensible. Get out, she was screaming. Get out! Get out! "Get out!" she screamed aloud. Sam looked at her - still sleepy, but animalistically awake.

"What's happening?" Sam asked, reaching for his blade. He leapt over the bed, toward the door, but turned back as Elanor didn't explain.

"Possessed," she ground out. She was clenching every muscle she had - fighting it. "Get out!" she shouted. "Get out! Audi nos!" She was in control for now. She spoke to Sam. "Crowley!"

"Crowley?" Sam asked. He turned to his duffel bag to find holy water. She was getting dizzy - she was losing. She could see some of Crowley's thoughts, somewhere between hearing them and sharing his consciousness.

"Get out of me!" she screamed with a final surge of desperate effort. She knew she couldn't maintain this fight. But then - though she could feel Crowley clawing at her insides, resisting her push, she fell to her knees and sputtered as Crowley was forced out of her body. She was gasping as the demon smoke filtered out of the hotel room. Sam crouched down next to her.

"Elanor?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"I think I'm going to be sick," she gasped. She lurched to the bathroom. He followed just enough to be sure she made it to the toilet and then backed off. He heard her retch emptily. She emerged some fifteen minutes later, brushing her teeth and looking dizzy.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"I was possessed. A first for everything." Elanor told him about the cloud - about Crowley being inside of her. About her struggle to get him out. She'd caught a glimpse of his intentions - one of which was drawing blood from Sam and injecting it into himself.

"So when you took over he just gave up and left?" Sam inquired.

"No. No, he fought me. He tried to stay. He struggled really hard against me."

"Wait you expelled him? You cast him out?"

"Well I mean I knew what he was so yeah?" She didn't understand the big deal. She was more interested in why he wanted Sam's blood.

"Elanor that's... amazing. And really really weird."

"What do you mean?" she asked, hugging one of the bed pillows.

"I mean I didn't know it was possible to expell a demon without an actual exorcism."

"I said audi nos," she replied.

"That... wouldn't have gotten rid of most demons - let alone Crowley. You basically just cast out the devil, Elanor." She frowned. He was saying her name - something he did when he was working particularly hard at making her understand the gravity of things. "This could be one of the reasons the demons are interested," Sam said, laying back on the bed.

"But that doesn't make sense. If I'm somehow demon-resistant, why would they want me."

"I don't know. Maybe you're an evolution in humanity that makes people more resistant to possession."

"I'm an X-man?" she asked with a grin. He shrugged, happy to see her smiling. "But, Sam... why did he come here, anyway?" Their conversation was cut short, with Crowley appearing at the foot of her bed. She leapt to her feet, scooping up the demon knife.

"I have an update on why you're a special order," Crowley said with a grin. Sam held an angel blade aloft.

"There are easier ways to deliver a message," Elanor replied.

"I couldn't possess you," he continued. "And, I imagine, that means you can't be forced or coerced to be an angel's vessel either."

"What does that mean?"

"It means an angel can't ride your meat-suit into the sunset."

"No - why does it matter."

"Oh, I don't know yet. But I'm accumulating clues. Your blood is special, on top of being virginal, so your flesh can't be possessed. Maybe you're the Virgin Mary or something. Anyway, I have business in Prague. I'll be around." He was gone as quickly as he had come - she looked at Sam, dumbfounded.

"What?" she asked lamely. She looked a bit green. "Did you tell him I was a virgin?" Sam shook his head.

"But if he knows the spell he might have put two and two together that way. And, well, some demons just know," added Sam, thinking of Ruby.

The mystery was beginning to exhaust Elanor but Sam was ready to dig for answers. They travelled back to the bunker in a short caravan. So several days Elanor dug through research. There wasn't much to it. People who were more vulnerable were typically easier to possess, but she didn't know how to rate herself on that one. She wasn't exactly a beacon of happy and healthy. But she spoke aloud, trying to think of reasons just based on what she had learned in the past few months. Which was quite a bit, though still nothing in comparison to the vast knowledge that Sam possessed.

"Some magic is stronger than the things found in Christian lore," Sam told her, looking for a book on the shelf. "Leviathans were the first beast and before we knew any of their weaknesses we witnessed a witch subdue one. Not kill it - but subdue it. I think one of a few things may be happening with you. Maybe you have something to do with fairies-" Elanor snorted but Sam continued. "Witchcraft... or maybe some other kind of magic. You might have some demon in you or you could have grace in you - but I think one of the angels would have said something. I mean, if you summon a guardian angel when there isn't one on you... whether it's intentional or not, I figure there's a reason God would want you protected. It might even mean that you had an angel assigned to you - who died in the fall. Angels don't really have instincts, so much as orders. So I figure somewhere in their coding they know what you are."

"So we just have to ask the angels?" Sam shook his head.

"It doesn't really work like that. But we might be able to ask an angel."

"But what do we ask?"

"Well, for starters, whether or not the urge to protect you that the angels seem to have comes from God or one of the archangels. They're the ones the angels have been following since God left." But Elanor was sleepy. She wanted to rest. Sam wasn't interested in giving Elanor time to relax. As far as he was concerned the path to saving Dean was on hiatus and while he hated it - he knew that he couldn't just feed Elanor to him and be done with it. He wanted something foolproof this time. And since both Castiel and Crowley were indicating something special about Elanor, he thought it was reasonable to find a way to harness whatever she had going on to save his brother. Sam made a call as Elanor repacked a bag - this time for several days.

"We're going to see the angels," Sam told her. She didn't want to be on the road but she didn't argue.

"When are we going to start drawing my blood again?" She asked. She wasn't particularly keen on the activity - but she knew it would have to happen.

"Soon," he replied simply. "You could sleep if you want."

"Do you ever?" she asked. He nodded. She laughed a little. She was watching his hands on the wheel as she curled up on her side of the front seat. He was a competent driver, which was something she had always admired. It was like watching someone play an instrument. Oh, she could drive of course. But some people made it into an art form. Any car was an extension of themselves. That's what she admired. She didn't really plan to fall asleep - hadn't decided to, but when she found herself running in dewy grass at twilight she realized she had slipped from the real world into her subconscious.

It wasn't a lucid dream. Well, she wasn't in control of it. She was following the script her mind had designed and walked down a land-bridge over still reflective waters. She watched her feet slip over the grass, but felt no breeze and saw no forms. Until the bridge stopped. And again she turned around, to walk back up the path. The tiny peninsula widened at the base, she saw now, and began to run back to the main land. And then she felt pain. It started at the base of her spine - a burn that she couldn't fight and spread outward. She collapsed, and as she turned to her back to look up at the darkening sky she felt fire burst around her - and watched as streaks formed in the sky. Plummeting downward. They collided with the flaming water without a sound, but the wave the impact created blew at her. She watched the skin fade from her finger-tips, watched her bones become evident.

She awoke with a gasp, and Sam looked over at her. She looked at the clock - she'd been asleep for maybe two hours.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, straigthening.

"Anything worth hearing about?" he continued. She relayed her dream though it didn't seem important. "Do you usually have such vivid dreams?"

"Yeah," she replied with a nod and a yawn.

"Heavy on the symbology?"

"Usually," she said. "My friends and family used to think I was making them up. That's when I started trying to keep the diaries. But they never seemed important." She felt as though she was close to remembering something important, but though she gave it a second nothing came.

"Well, sounds like heaven and hell are colliding in your dreams. Weird about the skeleton thing, though." She laughed a little. "Do they scare you? I mean, in the dreams, are you scared?"

"Not really. Except for the one with you. I mean, I don't really have emotions in my dreams - unless the emotion is, like, part of the dream," she explained. "I've never thought about it. And even when I do have emotions... I mean, do you ever dream about being drunk?" He nodded. "Usually when you dream about being drunk... do you feel drunk or do you just know that you are?"

"I think I just know?" Sam stated, slowing to a stop at the red light.

"Usually that's how emotions are in my dreams," she said. "Like I know how I feel, more than I'm actually feeling it. I was terrified in that dream, though. Between the asteroid and you being all creepy."

"Understandable," replied Sam.

"Did you ever figure anything out about that? Was I dreaming of you being Lucifer?" Sam didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. He kept telling himself it was some kind of coincidence but if his life had taught him anything it's that they don't exist. Elanor felt ba suddenly for asking, so she tried to change the subject. "Do you want me to drive for a while?" Sam looked at her as if he were judging her capability.

"I'm rested enough." He started to speak but held back. On any other occasion she would have pressed him, but she didn't bother. He pulled to the shoulder a few minutes later.

"All right," he said, handing her the keys to her car before he got out. She slid over and continued on the map he had set on his phone for her. He seemed to always know where he was going but she knew he'd been doing this for his entire life. Driving the dark highways of the continental United States. She wondered as she drove if he'd ever worked in Canada or Mexico - or overseas. She drove in silence for a while, as Sam managed to fall asleep. Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky when her favorite song came through the shuffle on her player. She smiled vaguely as she began to sing along. It wasn't a long song, but she loved it. Every lilt in the singer's voice, every climb and every fall she followed it without missing a beat. It was a song she'd been singing with Regina since she was tiny. Even before her parents had passed, she and her aunt had been quite close. It was the kind of admiration little girls had for beautiful women.

"You have a nice voice," she heard Sam mumble. She glanced at him. She hadn't meant to wake him.

"Sorry," she said, as the last strums of the guitar lead the song to a close.

"No. It's nice," he assured her, sitting up a bit straighter. "Dean has a nice voice too." He'd slept for nearly six hours as she drove. He yawned into his fist, and looked at the map she still had up. They were nearly there.

"I'll take the rest of the way, if you want," he offered. She agreed, easing to the shoulder. Her back was beginning to ache. They swapped seats, and she snuggled down in the chill of the wee hours - her thick sweater perfect for her needs. She didn't fight the urge to curl up on the seat and so pressed her back against the door and folded her legs under herself. She fell asleep clutching the back of the seat. And again she dreamed. This time she was in the car, driving splendidly down a sunny road with her aunt at the wheel of the nova. Sam drove in silence, he had even turned off the radio and when he drove into the city where the angels were still holding base camp he reached over to wake Elanor. He had meant to touch her shoulder - where Dean's shoulder would have been. The habit of the movement a strange reminder until he met with Elanor's soft curls. She woke as he pressed her bangs back from her face.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," he agreed. "We're about to get to the angels." They arrived without ceremony, few of the angels even looking up when they came in. There were probably guards posted. It was Hannah who greeted them, the black hair of her vessel moving subtly as she nodded to them.

"Castiel is out," she said promptly.

"Where is he?" Sam asked. Elanor looked on, still a little drowsy.

"He had a task." She was being rather closed - apparently she didn't want the Winchesters involved at all. "It is nice to see you again, Elanor," she said, turning to the young woman. Elanor smiled at her. "You seem well."

"I am," Elanor assured her. "Is Othniel here?"

"No, he is also out."

"How's he doing?" They chatted back and forth for a moment, in the awkward exchange of an angel and a human, and then Sam cleared his throat.

"We need to speak to Metatron," said Sam. Hannah looked hesitant.

"Please," Elanor pressed. "I think he may know something about me." Still Hannah wasn't sure. But Elanor had a way of persuading the beings around her. She smiled sweetly, calmly referencing her confusion and her concerns, but carefully avoiding anything related to Dean's circumstance, or their interactions with the King of Hell. She referenced Othniel before Hannah agreed.

"I'll take you to him," Hannah said. "But you won't get anywhere." They were led down a hall, into an east-facing set of rooms. Metatron sat, tied to a chair, much like a dentist's chair. He was humming quietly, his eyes glazed over. Bars had been installed to immitate a jail cell, though it didn't look particularly sturdy, the angelic engravings were enough to keep the angel sealed with or without the extra seals burned into the leather straps that bound him.

"Metatron," Sam called, stepping to the cage. The angel didn't blink, didn't move. He showed no sign of noticing Sam at all. They spent a few minutes trying to get through to him but at no point did they appear to phase him - even after Hannah let Sam into the cell with him. After a while they gave up and stood apart from the other angels, speaking in low tones.

"What happened, anyway?" Sam asked.

"What do you mean?" Hannah prompted. She preferred this man to the other Winchester. She still had not forgiven the murder of Tessa the reaper. Because of it she distrusted both of the men Castiel seemed so inclined to trust and to protect.

"Why is he," Sam paused, searching for the right phrase. "Catatonic? How was heaven even closed? I thought he had a way?

"He does," Hannah commented. She didn't particularly want to discuss this, but didn't see the harm. "But when we took him into our custody he still had some followers. For some reason and they closed the gates again. We believe they may in fact be in heaven, possibly communicating directly with Metatron on a wavelength we have not been able to focus on."

"And his condition?" Elanor asked, gesturing.

"We're not sure. Some think it is his way of coping with loss, others say he is meditating. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you."

They left shortly after, and as they ate they settled on staying in a motel for the night, rather than starting the drive back to Kansas.


	11. Chapter 11: Opportunity Nox

Chapter 11

"Can we do something fun?" Elanor asked as they ate.

"Are you bored?" Sam asked sardonically. Elanor pouted.

"I just... miss having a life. Since I'm not losing blood yet how about I get really plastered and make a fool of myself?" Elanor suggested. Sam smirked for her benefit, but he wanted to be doing something more useful with their time. He decided to go along with it, though. If she wanted to have fun before he started drawing blood from her every other day, he couldn't blame her. It was a few minutes before they pulled into a bar - Sam wanted to bag a little extra cash before settling in. Elanor watched him run his game from afar, but decided to leave him to it. If they were going out - she wanted to look like they were going out. But in the metropolitan area it wasn't hard to find a little store. She was skimming the sales rack, hidden at the back of a shop when she discovered a very flattering little black dress. She thought of her boots - old faithful - and figured with the right accessory it would work out well. She tried on the dress - long sleeved with a low-dipping back. She left with it, happy with the find, and returned to the bar she'd left Sam at.

Though she'd been gone less than two hours, he seemed done. He had picked up more than two hundred dollars in the time she was gone.

"You're like a shameful Santa." He chuckled softly. They established the motel before looking for a place to find their good time and Elanor escaped to the bathroom to style her hair and put on a little make-up. She looked at her stock, the little bag that still lived in her usual purse and wished she'd thought to buy a better lipstick. The only one she had was an intense deep purple. She applied it anyway, and swiped on a shimmering skin-tone for eye-shadow. She accented her eyes with liquid liner and she hesitated before walking out, looking back at herself. Sam had never seen her in make-up. Or looking quite so scanadalous. Though the dress made her look like a bombshell, despite her short stature. She plucked at it before she stepped back into the motel room. Sam looked at her, and Elanor saw him do a classic double take. For a moment he seemed at a loss for words.

"You look pretty," said Sam. She laughed. He wore his usual dark jeans, and a simple indigo v-neck long-sleeved shirt. Her hair had grown quite a bit, and the bangs that had fallen over her forehead were now longer face-framing waves. Sam had found a couple of local establishments, one was a moderate-scale bar scene. People danced in another part of the bar, and Sam was playing his role well. They sat at the bar together, on the far end, and ordered drinks. Sam was drinking beer tonight, nothing spectacular, whereas Elanor took a suggestion from the bartender. An elder berry cocktail of some kind. It was sweet.

"This is super good," she said, her eyes alight as she sipped from her straw again. He nodded.

"I believe you," he returned.

"No, taste it!" She pressed the drink toward him, aiming the straw at his mouth. He drank and then drew back.

"That is too sweet," he said. "Is there even any alcohol in there?"

"Probably," she replied. They drank in silence for a moment. "I think I'll start the night off with a shot. You interested?" Sam smiled softly at her as he called over the bartender. The liquid burned as it trickled through her throat. She sputtered a bit. Sam barely grimaced. She grinned at him, chewing gently on her straw. Music was playing and Sam noticed Elanor singing along softly.

"You know this music?" he asked. She nodded. "I thought you were all... eighties girl power?"

"I'm mostly eighties girl power. I'm also nineties house and early two-thousands hip-hop. And I like the radio."

"And this song is in which category?"

"Closest to the radio category," Elanor replied. It was a pop song, with a bouncy underbeat and a strong female vocalist. She finished her drink and flagged for another round for both of them.

"I thought I was babysitting?" Sam asked when her cocktail and his beer were delivered. The bartender had also repoured their shots. She giggled.

"Who said that?" she asked. "Nobody said I had to make a fool of myself by myself." They talked mildly, carefully avoiding anything of substance. Focusing, instead, on music and mundane things about the bunker. It was Sam who changed the tone.

"Do you actually like Othniel?" he asked. She turned her head, peering at him through the corner of her eyes.

"Of course." She paused, understanding his question. "I mean, of course he's awkward as hell, and usually doesn't understand the concept of personal space. And it took me a while to get him to understand privacy - even if it's fake." She smiled. The last time he'd barged in while she was showering she had given him the silent treatment for nearly two weeks. All the more impressive because he was her only company. All the more effective because while he reached the conclusion that she was irritated (after fearing she had been cursed or injured) he had to beg her to explain it to him. "But he really does mean a lot to me."

"Do you... like... Are you interested in him?" Sam asked. He had begun to ask if they were intimate but that clearly wasn't the case. Though it didn't mean there wasn't a spark.

"Like as a boyfriend?"

"Or whatever." Elanor cast her eyes toward the ceiling.

"I mean, the vessel he's in is pretty attractive. But it never really occurred to me. Definitely platonic," she assured Sam. "I kind of think of him like a brother. Or a dog." She laughed, downing the shot in front of her. Sam followed suit. "What about Castiel?"

"Do I want Cas as a boyfriend?" Sam clarified, an incredulous smile playing over his lips.

"No, no. Well that too, if you feel like sharing. But no, I mean... how did you form your bond with Castiel? I love Othniel. I was with him twenty-four/seven for a year. It's hard not to love someone after time like that, you know?" Sam nodded.

"Well, I'm not attracted to Cas," Sam began. Elanor giggled. "But - I don't know. He saved Dean. He saved me. He's made some mistakes, sure. But we're in this together." Sam paused, seeking the right words. "He's a good guy," he simplified. "He cares and he's always working toward a better future. He took my insanity from me. He... he's just part of the team." Sam shrugged, settling with his explanation.

"We each have our angels," Elanor said. "I'm really thankful for him."

"Do you ever pray to him?" inquired Sam.

"To Othniel?" Sam nodded. Elanor was more quizzical. "You can pray to angels?" Sam nodded again. "I have never tried."

"Well. You can. He'll probably hear you loud and clear - even if you don't include his name. I used to pray to Cas, but usually he only ever answered Dean. Castiel is really more Dean's angel than mine. And now..." Sam stopped short. Now Dean was a demon. There wasn't much to say about it. But Elanor was finishing her drink as Sam's eyes began to fall.

"Nope," she said, slipping off of the stool onto her feet. "None of that. Let's go dance."

"Dance?" Sam repeated. He sounded hesitant at the very least.

"Yeah, you know. One or more people moves their body to a beat - real or imagined. Haven't you ever been to a party? Had a girlfriend?"

"Of course." Sam left a bill on the bar. "I've had girlfriends." Elanor smiled.

"Then I'm sure you've danced. Come on, you're a guy. You don't even have to move, basically," she pressed. She didn't wait for his reply - hooking her arm in his, she dragged him into the other room. They did dance. Sam was a little awkward on the dance floor - but guiding Sam made Elanor that much more confident. She was usually a shy dancer, but if Sam was uncomfortable it definitely meant she wasn't being judged. She tossed her hair. The bar was transitioning into a club, she realized. Even the lights by the bar had lowered. Blue and purple bulbs were their main source of light. The buzz Elanor had earned put her in a happy place. Free and fun. She turned her back to Sam, encouraging him to keep her hands on her hips as she moved them.

They had been in close physical proximity before. In a well-lit room, usually standing on a mat, or with a punching bag hanging between them. This was different, and not completely foreign to either of them. Sam was actually letting himself enjoy the moment - and it was a vastly different experience for him than it was for Elanor. He was taller than, probably, every person in the room. Certainly a head over the people who immediately surrounded them. He caught the brightest of the lights, and let himself dance with the little firecracker. Elanor was in the dark, however, smaller than the people around her, and imminently more at ease than she'd been in quite a while. They danced through a few songs, changing the pace with the beat, matching the occasional step with the crowd at large. More than once Elanor found herself thankful to have such an imposing dance partner. It was unfortunately quite common for unsolicited affection to occur on the dance floor. In the privacy provided by a darkened dance floor Elanor found herself pleasantly reminiscing to other times she'd had fun in a similar setting.

Elanor was a bit winded, but riding the social high when Sam pulled them from the dance floor and toward the bar. He ordered - the same drinks they'd been having and yet another round of shots, this time doubles. She was thrilled with the development. They shared a joke or two and then gestured - a request rather than a flippant command. She'd been eyeing people taking stairs behind the dance floor, next to the restrooms and she led the way - hoping there was some kind of patio, maybe on a rooftop.

It was luck, she thought, that had them stepping into the autumn air into a plume of smoke. It wasn't cigarettes, but it was tobacco. Hookahs were scattered across the rooftop. She hadn't seen one since her last year of college, but had always enjoyed the unique, sweet scents they produced. She sighed, brushing her hair back from her face as she and Sam perched against the railing at the edge of the rooftop. They clinked their shots together and took them. Elanor laughed when Sam made a face.

"Catching up to you?" she asked. She was pretty drunk, she knew. But she didn't mind. It was the goal, afterall.

"A little bit," he admitted. "What number are we on?" She giggled. Her face was rosier than usual, pink from drink and dancing.

"I think four. No five? No." She paused and Sam laughed at her. She swatted at his arm, lightly grazing the firm curve of his bicep. "One of those. Whatever."

"You're drunk." She just nodded enthusiastically.

They stood, watching the cars drive by below them, and enjoying the atmosphere. Sam was near to finishing his beer, though Elanor wasn't quite half-way through hers. He set his aside, glancing down at her drink. She had followed his eyes and took a deep swallow.

"I wish mini-golf places were open right now," Elanor murmured. Sam found the idea quaint. He hadn't played putt-putt since... well, one time Dean had gone on a date and brought Sam along. On the condition he would stay twenty or more feet away from him at all times. Nontheless it was a pleasant memory.

"Are you good at it?" he asked.

"Hell no!" she all but shouted. Sam burst into laughter. "Sorry."

"Then why do you want to play?"

"I'm not very competitive," she explained. "You saw me play pool. It's worse." She laughed a little. "I just like games. When Dean gets back I'll probably start demanding game nights. Whether or not anyone actually wants to participate."

"I'm not going to lie to you," he began. "That sounds awful." Again she saw his eyes on her drink, so took to drinking it down. He laughed as she worked at chugging the concoction. Though it was a sweet liquid, it was still quite potent. He was fairly certain he would be have been drunk by now as well if he were drinking her cocktail rather than his beer.

"Oooh," she gasped when she surfaced again.

"What?" he asked.

"We should go do karaoke." His mouth fell open. Even drunk that wasn't on his list of ideal experiences; and in any case he certainly wasn't there now.

"No," he replied.

"Oh, come on!" she whined, leaning toward him. He was shaking his head, though he was smiling.

"I'll need a few more drinks," Sam replied. Elanor didn't reply, she turned and walked away. Sam was concerned for a moment, thinking that she might be sick. But decided she was probably just going to the restroom. He waited, turning his back to the crowd. He was focusing on a group of loud rowdy men walking down the street together. What looked to be a bachelor party. Then he felt a presence next to him. He turned, expecting to find Elanor - but instead was face-to-face with a sleekly brunette woman. She had a short asymmetrical bob, and wore a one-shouldered dress in a brilliant teal. Her eyes were brown and her skin was a toffee tone. Sam would have been lying if he claimed that he didn't find her attractive. Especially when she smiled.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Isabel."

"Hi," Sam returned. Glanced toward the crowd seeking Elanor's face, though she still hadn't returned.

"Are you having fun tonight?" she asked. Sam was responding stiffly, unsure of how to divert the conversation.

"Yeah, actually," he answered.

"Actually? Did you not expect to?" Sam shrugged his answer. But Isabel continued. "I don't usually come here," she told him. With the heels she wore she was only a couple of inches shorter than sam. "But now I'm glad I did. I really like tall men. And your hair." She sighed, displaying a coy smile as she glanced away. Sam glanced over the crowd again. "Anyway, do you want to dance?"

"Probably not," Sam answered.

"Oh," she said. "Not the dancing type."

"Not exactly." She mistook his answer but Sam could smell the tequila on her breath as she inched closer to him.

"I don't mind men who don't dance," she said huskily. "Especially when they look like you." She reached out, then, letting her hand rest against his shoulder. He didn't move, but glanced toward the crowd again. Elanor had just reappeared, stepping out of the door way with her hands full of alcohol. Sam grinned at her, genuinely relieved to see her. She approached, glancing at the woman who stood more than a head above her.

"Hey," Elanor said brightly. She felt strange - mostly because the woman didn't back down immediately. She looked over Elanor - an expression that looked as though she were smelling something suspicious.

"We could go somewhere else," Isabel offered, looking back to Sam with a dazzling smile.

"I think I'll just stay here," Sam said, he glanced awkwardly to Elanor. _Help_, he seemed to say.

"Anyway, we should get going, right babe?" Elanor asked, sliding into Sam's arms, and and giving him the shot. She clinked her little glass to his and they knocked them back. She coughed a little and then smiled, laying her head against his chest as best she could. The woman still hadn't stepped back. Elanor was hoping she wouldn't take to addressing the "relationship".

"Yeah," Sam murmured, allowing his arm to find a resting place on Elanor's shoulder. He was stiff.

"Well, here's my number," Isabel stated, pulling Sam's arm out and scribbling digits onto his palm. "And come find me if you decide you want that dance." Once she had disappeared Elanor looked up at Sam, stepping away from him.

"Did you just not say anything when she approached you?" Elanor asked. Sam shrugged. "And..." she hesitated. "You could have gone for it. I would've understood."

"I'm not going to ditch you out here," Sam told her, looking toward the lights of the city.

"But..." she sighed. Wondering about the path. "I mean - I'm just saying. I would have understood." But some part of her was thankful Sam had frozen, and another part - smaller, maybe - might have been jealous. She could imagine, however, how crazy he might go without her ever noticing. She never saw him with women, or heard of one. They sat on the newer drinks for a few minutes - Sam with his beer and Elanor with her cocktail. They had gotten a bit quiet. But they both wanted to leave the club. As Sam slid into the car, starting the engine, he glanced at her.

"Karaoke, huh?" He thought her mood had soured - and was ready to put a little effort into fixing it.

"No," she said. "I think we should probably just head back to the motel." She was drunk, and though largely in a good place she was curiously sad. When Elanor had any kind of unpleasant emotion, she attempted to identify it. And in doing so, usually made it worse.

"Are you okay?" he asked as she heaved a soft sigh.

"I'm fine," she replied. He knew better but didn't know how to address it. Wasn't sure if it was even his business to care.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm just tired, I think. A little bummed."

"What about?" Elanor shrugged, gesturing largely.

"Everything, I guess."

"Living like this can be pretty hard," he agreed. "Especially at first. Though, as far as the life goes, you haven't had it too bad."

"Thanks," she said dryly, smiling a bit.

"I mean, it still sucks. But believe me, it could be so much worse."

"I know," she told him. She turned her head toward the window and watched the building fly past. As they got further into the outskirts of the city and closer to their motel, Sam pulled off into an all night everything-store.

"I'll be right back," he declared. He left the car and she watched him jog into the vast, luminous building. He returned a few minutes later with two bags. One was soft while the other clearly held bottles.


	12. Chapter 12: Dog and Butterfly

"They still sell booze?" she demanded. "How illegal is this?"

"I did have to sweet-talk her a little bit," Sam admitted. "But it worked out well."

"What's that?" Elanor pressed, gesturing to the other bag. Sam offered her the plastic bag and she withdrew swim-trunks, and a bathing suit. "We're going swimming?" He nodded, pulling onto the road again. "Why?"

"Because you haven't made a fool of yourself yet," Sam offered. It was partially true - he wanted her to be happy with the night. And if she was tired of the crowds, he would find something else interesting. But also, he was in the mood to drink and to have fun now. She had gotten him started and he so rarely let himself have a good time. He pulled into the motel and they went into the room. Again Elanor stepped to the bathroom, easing out of the dress and into the bathing suit. It was a flattering thing, with a halter-tie and a low back. She was happy he'd gone with the one piece, though she realized it was a bit more revealing over the chest than she would have really preferred. She didn't blame him for it, though. It had looked quite modest before she put it on. She knocked before she stepped out, unsure if he was changing in the room or not.

"Come on," Sam called. The moment she opened the door he handed her a cup. She tasted it and made a face. "It's not even that strong."

"To you, maybe," she said - but drank again. He wore the dark red swim trunks he'd bought and no shirt. She noticed the tattoo. "What's that?"

"Anti-possession," he said. She should have known. She'd seen the symbol a thousand times.

"Is the pool even open right now?"

"If it's not it should be," he returned, heading for the door. He carried the bottles in one hand, and his drink in the other. She scooped up towels as she followed him. The pool still glowed, and though the sign said the pool closed at ten Sam opened the gate anyway. Or attempted to. It had been locked from the inside with a padlock. He glanced at her. "Can you jump this?" he asked. She looked at the fence dubiously. It was at her shoulders.

"I doubt it," she said. He crouched, and offered to boost her over. She obeyed, stepping up onto his knee, and letting him balance her as she sat on the gate and the hopped over. He handed her their supplied before jumping the gate himself. She stepped to the edge of the pool, her cup in hand. She leaned down to set it safely on the pool's edge before Sam pushed her in. She couldn't quell the short scream that burst from her lips and when she resurfaced, wiping the water from her eyes, she saw him standing above her grinning. Luckily he'd pushed her into relatively shallow water, she could stand on her tip-toes and keep her head above water. He took off at a run, and flopped into the deepest end of the pool. She was sure he would hit the floor of it anyway, and looked around, fearing someone would have heard the gregarious splashing. She could see him swimming toward her under the water, a tawny and red blur. She started to creep away, using her arms to pull her as she ran en pointe through the water. He caught up with her easily, and she could feel his hands on her waist as he hoisted her up. She bit back the shout that wanted to erupt.

"Deep breath," he instructed, ready to drag her down as he surfaced.

"No!" she called quietly. He paused, thankfully.

"Why?"

"Sam, I can't actually swim," she told him. He simply laughed, and tossed her through the water. She slowed near the six foot, bouncing herself off of the bottom of the pool toward the edge. She glared as she clung to the side.

"You really can't swim?" he asked, as he passed her her drink. She drank from it as her breathing evened again.

"I really can't swim."

"Why not?"

"I live in land-locked Texas?" she offered. There was no reason, though. She had just never learned.

"I refuse to believe swimming isn't an important pass-time in Texas." She laughed. It was true, pools were a very important part of summertime. She edged past him, dragging herself back to a depth she could stand in. He leaned lowly against the edge of the pool, submerging himself to the neck, and tilted his head back. His hair was dark from the water, and she wondered vaguely what hers was doing. She pulled the mass of it over her shoulder and let it lay there, wafting lightly in the water. They drank and chatted.

"Man, Isabel was hot," Elanor said mildly. Sam laughed before focusing on her face.

"Are you a lesbian?" Sam asked. Elanor shrugged.

"No. But I know an attractive person when I see one," she replied. She met his eyes directly.

"Shots," Sam called quickly, turning to the bottle. He had left small styrofoam cups stacked on top of the bottle. He poured out a small measure of liquid for each of them and offered one to Elanor. They tossed it back. At first Elanor had wanted to suggest a toast but nothing seemed appropriate.

"Anyway, I just had to ask. Since I already know you've kissed a woman." Elanor shrugged again, glancing away. "I'm not judging you or anything. I wouldn't care either way."

"I know," she said. "Or, at least, it would surprise me if you had a problem."

"So if you don't like girls, why had you kissed one?"

"College," Elanor answered. "And I don't dislike girls. I'm just not really all about girls. I do prefer men. I consider myself straight, but I like attractive people. Even if I've never been super attracted to anyone." Elanor looked at Sam again, the line of water that ran from a lock of his hair over his chest and into the pool. She smiled a little. "You're pretty attractive." Sam coughed smally. This was not the direction he had been hoping for.

"That's not-"

"I'm not saying anything heavy," she told him. "It's just true. You have these brooding eyes and powerful jaw. You're well-built, and I'm a sucker for long hair." He couldn't stifle the grin. "Oh my god, you're blushing!"

"I am not."

"You are." She grinned and started to laugh. "Aw, Sammy, you're blushing." She held her tongue in her teeth, smiling largely. But his face had fallen. It took her just a second but she knew what she had done. "I'm sorry."

"No it's not important," Sam told her. But his countenance had completely changed. He turned to the bottle again, refilling his cup.

"Wait," she said, reaching for his hand. "I am sorry. Really. I wasn't thinking."

"How do you know the things you do?" Sam asked, staring at her hand over his.

"What do you mean?"

"What's significant," he explained, looking at her and drawing his hand away. "It's like you can read people or something."

"Maybe I can," she answered. "Or maybe I just know you better than you think I do."

"In a handful of months?"

"It's hard not to get to know someone you live with," she said. He realized he had never really considered them to be living together, though no other description would be accurate.

"Oh," was all he said. She smiled now. "So I have a question." She nodded for him to continue but he hesitated.

"What?" she pressed, still grinning.

"What did you want out of life? Before all this," he posited. Her face fell only slightly. She drank again before she answered. He resisted the urge to retract the question.

"Honestly?" He nodded. "I don't know. I mean, I never really wanted the whole picket-fence thing. It always seemed forced. I never craved children or fame. Honestly, before the angels fell, I was a already bit unguided. I had finished school and been working as a librarian, and had worked my way to lead librarian where I worked. I wrote a lot. But I don't know what I really wanted out of life. I wanted to matter, I guess - I just didn't know how. Overall I just wanted to figure out what made me happy and do that for as long as I could. And I was pretty focused on helping with the girls."

"Girls?" Sam asked.

"Regina's daughters," Elanor answered. She was hoping the conversation wouldn't ruin her mood again. "Rachel and Rebecca. Apples-of-my-eye and all that."

"You don't want kids?"

"I had never really had that as a goal. The only goal I had was to get through college - though I was looking into grad-school when the rest happened. My turn?"

"For what?"

"A question."

"Oh, sure," Sam replied.

"Why didn't you chase down Isabel?" she asked.

"Why do you keep bringing her up?" he returned. She pointed to his hand where the number was scrawled. He rubbed at it.

"So?"

"I don't know - maybe because I was with you? I mean, I really wouldn't just abandon you like that." Sam drank, turning in the water to refill his cup.

"But... I don't want to be crass or anything... but you don't see many women." Elanor unintentionally punctuated each of her words, but it was about phrasing rather than emphasis. He shrugged. "Are you in a relationship with that Jody chick?" Sam laughed a little.

"No, Jody - Jody's great. But no."

"Aw, why not?"

"I don't know," Sam answered. He didn't want to say she was more like a mom than a potential date. It seemed somehow rude.

"So do you get around when you go on other hunts?" Elanor asked.

"What is with this line of questioning?" Sam demanded, a grin lighting his features.

"Nothing," Elanor said, grinning at him. "I'll drop it."

"I want to know what the interest is," he pressed. He still smiled. She quirked her eyebrows, sensing the challenge. "What's the obsession?"

"It's far from an obsession," she answered blandly. "I just wanted to know if the Isabel thing was actually about me. Maybe you prefer men. Maybe you're cellibate. Are you a virgin, Sam?" Sam laughed a little, shaking his head.

"Why don't you know how to swim?" Sam asked. Elanor eyed him, wondering if it were an intentional change of subject.

"I never learned. Well, that's not true, maybe. Regina says I knew when I was little - like a toddler. But I guess I just didn't swim for so long I lost the knack."

"It's an important skill. You should learn."

"When am I ever going to need it? I'm only around water for pleasure."

"You never know," Sam said with a shrug. Then he straightened, and Elanor saw a glint in his eye. She tried to get away but he seized her around the ribs and threw her toward deeper water. Her plastic cup flipped into the pool - thankfully it was nearly empty. She stayed down longer than she needed to - holding her breath. It seemed like forever and her chest had just begun to constict when she saw him swimming down toward her. He grabbed her and hauled her up and had already gotten her halfway out of the pool when he heard her laughing. It was a gasping laugh, as her breathing attempted to even itself.

"Sorry," she cackled. He narrowed his eyes at her before pushing her back into the pool. She managed to snag the edge - keeping her head above water.

"Can you really not swim?" he asked.

"I can't, which is why you shouldn't throw people around."

"As dangerous as our day jobs can be, you want to play drowning victim?" Sam inquired, extending himself to reach for the bottle.

"Only if you'll learn from my demise," she simpered with a smile.

"Shut up," Sam said. She laughed again and pulled herself up out of the water, perching on the side, splashing her feet lightly. Sam offered her his cup as he took a swig from the bottle itself. She cocked an eyebrow.

"Really gung-ho about the booze tonight, huh?" she said. He shrugged. She drank from his cup - adding more of the mixer to it.

"Just relaxing."

"Ugh," she sighed. He looked at her. "Nothing," she said. "I'm drunk. In the pool I thought it was the water. Now I know it's a different liquid." He laughed softly.

"Should we go in?" he asked. She nodded. Stepping up and toweling off a bit. When it came to the gate, though, she lost her balance as he helped her up. She rapped her shin stiffly against the metal and stifled a cry.

"Oww," she whined. He jumped the fence next to her, and then helped her down.

"What did you do?" he asked, looking down at her.

"It'll just be purple tomorrow." She winced as she rubbed her hand over the smooth skin of her leg. She had scraped it a little, too, she realized. He led the way back to the room, and she hit the shower immediately. Nothing was worse for her hair than chlorine. When she emerged in a henley collared nightgown Sam was face down on his bed. She reached over to turn the light off but then he stirred. "Oh, I thought you were asleep."

"Nope," he said. "I actually don't like to go to sleep while I'm drunk."

"Me neither. I was just going to read on my phone, though."

"Well," Sam rolled over, reaching into the night desk. Beside the bible was a deck of cards. "Up for a game?"

"Always," she replied. They played until Elanor started yawning. She was beating him, nine games to two.

"How are you this good at poker?" he demanded, redealing and shoving their pile of rolled up bits of paper toward her. By now she had a heap and his collection was dwindling.

"Beginner's luck?" she offered. He didn't entirely believe her.

"Are you cheating?" he demanded. She yawned largely.

"No," she answered with a sigh. They could hear birds beginning to chirp.

"We should sleep," he said, picking up the cards he had just dealt. She nodded, returning to her bed. She fell asleep without much thought or hesitation. In the dream it was raining, and she was shrinking, but the dream was largely uneventful. Strange sensations and an impression of lights were all she remembered when she woke. It was late in the morning, nearly noon, when she heard Sam moving around the room. She opened her eyes blearily, reaching out for her phone and stretching out languidly under the sheet. No missed calls and no text messages. She wondered why Othniel hadn't gotten back to her.

"Grub," he grunted through an uncomfortable squint.

"Hungover?" she asked. She felt a bit dehydrated - thirsty. But didn't have a headache, thankfully. He grunted again. She smiled a bit. He had ordered breakfast at a nearby diner and gotten it to go. She knelt to her bag before sitting at the table, offering Sam a couple of pills. "They say natural cures are better, but it would be a waste to throw up such a nice breakfast." She focused on her hashbrowns and bacon - eating the eggs because she knew she should. She wasn't a big fan of them. After breakfast Sam showered, as Elanor tried to contact the angels again. When she called Castiel's secondary phone number it was Hannah who answered.

"Hello?" Hannah asked into the phone. A little louder than was necessary.

"Hannah? It's Elanor. Have Castiel or Othniel returned?"

"I'm afraid not," she said. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"No. No, just ask them to call me or Sam when they return."

"Of course." Elanor disconnected the call and stared down at her phone for a moment, thinking. It was quite strange for them to be so unavailable. But the purpose of the angels was to return to heaven. She did feel a bit abandoned by Othniel, though. And she was beginning to worry. She dialed his number again but it didn't come through. So she laid back on the bed. She knew now that she could pray to her friend, and he would probably hear her.

"Othniel," she spoke softly. "I'm fine. I'm beginning to worry about you, though. Please contact me soon." She continued to pray as she waited for Sam to emerge from the restroom. She prayed as she dressed in worn jeans and a v-neck shirt. She concluded the prayer, feeling strange about praying to anything other than God. She'd never been a particularly devout person, but her Baptist upbringing had instilled in her that you may only worship the one true God. Everything else was heresy.

Sam emerged.

"Any luck?"

"Nope. Hannah answered the back-up, Castiel and Othniel aren't answering." Sam nodded, still towelling his mane of hair.

"There's a case nearby," he said. "If you don't mind hanging around?"

"I can help," she offered. He shook his head.

"I'm pretty sure it's a solo vampire. It shouldn't be a problem." She nodded. And then laughed. He nodded to her. "What?"

"Nothing. Vampires." She shook her head. "I know I've been in the know for a little while but it's still trippy."

"I can imagine," he replied.

"Can you?" she returned.

"I didn't know angels were real until I met one," Sam said.

"With all the rest, you didn't believe in angels?"

"I wouldn't say that. I just... didn't know, like I know now, you know?" She laughed at his phrasing. He grinned.

"I know."

"Anyway, I have to do a little leg work. I'll be back in a few hours?" She nodded. She didn't know what she would do with herself but she didn't want to tell him to blow off a job. Especially since it usually meant saving someone's life. He left a few minutes later, and she decided to venture into the city by herself. He had left her car, she realized, and wondered vaguely if he was taking the phrase 'leg-work' a bit too literally. But she wasn't concerned. He was a big boy. The day brought a light sprinkle, wetting the pavement. She found herself to be rather bored, nothing seemed particularly interesting. She had always been a social person - at least when she needed to be out in the world. But with a largely solitary life it was hard to pick up the phone and ask someone to lunch. She found a mall, got a pretzel and a soda and wandered through one of the book stores. Then another book store, and a clothing store. It was nearly dark when Sam texted her.


	13. Chapter 13: Hanging on the Telephone

chapter 13

He wanted to know where she was, and upon answering, she got an address. There wasn't an explanation. And immediately the pit of her stomach dropped, and her body constricted. Tense, she left the mall. Speeding a bit as she mapped to the address he had sent. Her mind was whirring, and at a red light she leaned down under the seat and pulled out her pistol and the angel blade Othniel had given to her. The long sweater she wore wouldn't do much to hide the blade, but she didn't have much choice. She slipped the pistol into the back of her pants, the metal cold against the small of her back. She stopped. It was a dark street, even the street-lights were either off or simply not present. It seemed to be a neighborhood development. She pulled closer, reading the freshly-painted numbers on the curb. But before she found the number, she saw a figure sitting on the side-walk. She slowed, nearly stopped, but when the figure turned his head she calmed a bit. It was Sam. He rose to his feet as she pulled forward those last few feet.

"Are you okay?" she demanded instantly.

"Yeah," he said.

"You don't look very okay," she pressed, shining the light of her phone over his face. He had a knot forming on his right cheek-bone, and what was sure to be a black eye. She looked over his body, but other than the tear in his jeans she couldn't see any damage.

"I'm fine. Just a little banged up, nothing to worry about."

"Why didn't you take the car earlier?"

"I stole one. I had to ditch it, though."

"How was the hunt?" Elanor asked as she got back onto the highway - the quickest way to the motel.

"Fine. Ganked three vamps."

"What a day," she replied dryly. "I thought you said there was just one?"

"I was wrong." They pulled into the motel and went into the room - Sam making a beeline for the restroom. Elanor heard the water turn on. She had forgotten her bag in the car so stepped out for it. Throughout the day the rain had picked up, now a steady beating against the pavement. She didn't notice the group of figures hidden by the shadows of the night. She didn't see them at all until she was surrounded. She saw the reflection in the darkened window of the Nova. She was unarmed this time but she whirled, striking at the face of the one to her right. She hit his face - he was small-statured and slim but barely flinched when her arm connected with his jaw. She drew in a breath to scream, but the one in the middle threw his hand up to grip her throat and she gurgled against the pressure. She saw a row of fangs extend as he drew his lips back into a snarl. That and the blinking haze that she knew was her losing consciousness.

When Sam came out of the shower he called to her. And then hints of panic colored his vision as he noticed her phone still lying on the bed. He stepped out, trotting over to the Nova and noticed the car door still slightly ajar. He turned back, his hair still wet, and lifted the bag he'd taken in less than thirty minutes ago. He thought he'd found the nest. Now he was sure he hadn't. He was a hunter. He would find her, and take down the sons of bitches who'd taken her. He started on the foundation he had established - and returned to the house the vamps had been hiding in when he'd found them. The corpses of the vampires he'd taken down were gone, though the blood stains remained. He searched for clues and found only a handful of papers - and a phone.

Elanor awoke with pain radiating throughout her torso. It was dark - nearly pitch. She began to pray in a chokey whisper - screaming in her mind but mumbling so the words tripped over one another as they escaped her mouth. It was the murmuring that got the vampire's attention. In the large room there were eight that she could see. She was tied to a chair - her arms wrenched behind her, overtaxing both of her shoulders, and the muscles in her arms. It was a female who turned to her. The length of blonde hair falling attractively over her shoulder as she leaned in. A grin on her lips.

"Look, the bait's awake," she cooed. Elanor narrowed her eyes at her, thinking feverishly. Could Sam find her? He could track her phone... but she couldn't remember if she even had her phone. "Aren't you going to beg?" The vampiress crouched before Elanor, reaching out to fondle her hair. Elanor resisted the urge to jerk away - stiffening instead. "Oh, she's brazen." She stood, hands on her hips and looked to one of the males.

"Jenny, don't play with your food," a young-looking but strangely mature boy said.

"That's my favorite part of eating," Jenny replied. She leaned in close this time, planting a kiss against the space just below Elanor's ear. Elanor braced herself for the pain, she'd begun to tremble.

"Wait," another vampire ordered. She had just walked into the room. She was an older woman, with silver hair - but she moved with the gait of a teenager.

"What?" Jenny replied.

"Isaac wants us to wait. He wants the first bite."

"He's always so excited about virgins. I don't get the big difference, Lena," Jenny said.

"Then take it up with him, sweetie," the elder replied. Beaten, Jenny moved away. "He'll be here soon." Elanor could have sighed in relief - if only she wasn't still at the mercy of a fleet of vampires. Occasionally one would taunt her, and as exhaustion began to affect her, she began to talk back.

"So what's the deal?" the one named Kyle asked. He was the youth. Elanor didn't ask, but raised a brow. He flexed his hand, looking down as he spread his fingers, and rolled them back into a first before relaxing his hand again. "Are you like... a catholic crusader?"

"What?" Elanor demanded, rolling her eyes. Stay haughty, she told herself.

"I mean - you hunt us. Vampires, probably other things, too. But you don't exactly smell like the road. And your body," he added, leaning close to her. He licked the underside of her jaw - she jerked away. "I mean, you know we can smell it on you."

"Smell what?"

"Your," he spaced his words for emphasis. "Virtue." He was gazing into her eyes now, and she stared back at him. "Most of the things that go bump in the night can tell, you know. So I wanna know what the deal is."

"There is no deal."

"Oh, babe," he replied. "There's always a deal." He backhanded her. She knew he'd been toying with the idea - had seen it in his eyes every time he flexed his hand. But the transition was a shock, she hadn't had time to brace herself. Physically or mentally - and in surprise and pain she cried out.

"Go to hell," she spat. She could taste iron in her mouth, and swallowed furiously.

"God you smell good," he replied. He kissed her, tasting the blood on her lips, attempting to force his tongue past their barricade. And then he drew back, practically scampering away. The others rose to their feet as well, forming a wide ring around her. She assumed it meant the head had arrived. There was nothing she could do about it. Though her trusty knife was hidden in her boot, she couldn't reach it. It might as well have been back at the bunker. Uselessly far away. She heard a door, but resolved not to turn her head. And then he swept in - looking like he'd walked out of a bad novel. He wore black jeans and a black t-shirt, topped off with a long black coat. She would have made fun of him if she'd thought it would help. He had blonde hair, slicked back - and dark eyes.

"This is the treat?" he asked.

"Nice to meet you, Isaac," Elanor said grimly. She wanted desperately to gain control of the situation, but she didn't know how.

"This is the symbol," Isaac said, turning to the others. "She is the fuel for those who want to end us. We lost three of our brothers tonight because of humans like her." He kicked at her, and she winced heavily. He hadn't broken her - but her thigh would certainly be purple by morning. If she saw morning. "Hunt or be hunted," he carried on. "We must erradicate the race to ensure our survival. We must destroy all hunters. Or turn them." He turned to her. "But first. A drink." He leaned in, grazing his hand up the thigh he had just injured and lowered his face to her level. He stared at her and she glared at him.

"Coward," was all she said before he leaned his head to the right and bit into her. She screamed, unintentionally tightening under his assault. It was a strange and blinding pain for her - and her head began to hurt in earnest. She prayed loudly now, as Isaac drank from the side of her throat. She thought lamely that he had avoided her jugular - a small blessing. She wasn't sure if he could turn her this way and as she blinked furiously she realized the others were moving in. "Get off of me!" she screeched. She was surprised when he obliged. But realized it was a short reprieve. Jenny moved closer, now. They were draining her.

"Now, normally," began Isaac. "We aren't quite so barbaric. But your copse is going to be a symbol in the hunter's mind until he breaths his last. Which will happen shortly after he sees it. He, we will drain properly. But you're our feast for tonight." They were like ravenous dogs now, pouring over one another. Her throat recieved no new bites. He had punctured her well enough. But the disgusting trend made Elanor wild. She began to buck and fight. She screamed again.

"Don't bother with that," Kyle told her. "No one can hear you. We know what we're doing." But she had learned less than thirty hours ago that someone could hear her. She knew it would have to be frustrating that she called out to him now - but she had to alert someone. If nothing else - someone had to warn Sam. Which was precisely what had happened. Othniel had heard her the first time, now several hours ago, when her mind was screaming out his name. Keywords were identifiable and when she called him and she didn't answer he didn't know what to do. He was driving at his fastest when he dialed Sam, instructing him with the information he knew - furious that the human protector had failed her. Sam was now standing on the other side of the door Isaac had marched through. He looked at his arsenal - the dead man's blood readily armed into a dart gun, his machete grasped in his hand. He'd seen through the window the feast had already began and knew there was no time to waste. They hadn't smelled him coming, which was partially finesse and partially luck. He banged open the door.

Time at once sped up and slowed down, as the un-impeded vampires charged Sam. He shot three of them in the chest with the darts. As they hesitated, he beheaded another two. Isaac had stepped away from the room, and Jenny had stepped away from the pale-faced Elanor. As she stepped forward Sam shot her as well, before beheading the three that miserated on the floor. He stepped to Elanor, cutting her loose. She was a graphic mess, blood seeping down from her over-stimulated neck. He pulled loose a kerchief, pressing it to her neck. Jenny was struggling back to her feet, blood smeared across her face.

"You'll never catch him," she said. Sam decapitated her without a word.

"Are you okay?" he breathed. Elanor couldn't tell. She was so lightheaded. She wondered vaguely how much she had lost, and how much she was still losing. It didn't help that she hadn't eaten. But her eyes were relatively clear. Sam hesitated - listening hard. And as Kyle the vampire drew close behind, before Elanor had even noticed him, Sam swept his blade upward, slicing up awkwardly from below his left ear - wedging the machete partially in his skull. He had to struggle for a moment to withdraw it before beheading him properly.

"Isaac," she said.

"Who?" Sam asked, unsure if she were just delirious.

"The leader. Over there," she said - gesturing only with her eyes. It hurt to move. Sam stood, turning his back to Elanor and inching around the corner. He didn't see any signs of the vampire until he turned back. He stood with Elanor, drawing her roughly up from her seated position.

"She's already going a little cold. I could make her live forever if you'd like," Isaac said. Sam pulled his handgun, the darts were all gone. The vampire laughed.

"Let her go," Sam instructed. He had such a frigid demeanor when he hunted. A coolness that arranged his features. A mechanical aspect that chilled Elanor.

"What are you doing?" he taunted. "That can't kill me." Sam fired, hitting the vampire between the eyes. He reared, loosing Elanor who fell foward. Before the vampire fully recovered, however, Sam had taken his opportunity. He knocked the vampire to the floor - bracing his boot against its chest.

"I told you to let her go," Sam said. He brought the blade down like a guillotine - and did was guillotines did best. Elanor was still bleeding. Sam dragged her up, carting her to the Nova and immediately heading to a hospital. But Elanor's phone was ringing. She answered it.

"Elanor," Othniel breathed. "Where are you?"

"Sam got me," she said.

"You've been injured," stated Othniel. "Go to the angels."

"That's a good idea," Elanor mumbled. "The angels... Sam."

"What? Elanor! Elanor!" Sam shouted, patting her leg. But she was unconscious - fainted from blood loss. He reached for her phone, he could hear Othniel's panicked tone.

"Sam here," Sam said. "I have her. I'll take her to Hannah."

"Do that. Why is she not at the bunker?"

"We came to see you?"

"And the vampires? The hunt? What is wrong with you, Winchester?" Othniel boomed through the speaker. Sam simply hung up the phone. Now was most certainly not the time. But Sam delivered Elanor to the angels. Hannah looked over him reprovingly as another angel healed Elanor. She was still unconscious, but the nameless angel assured him that she would be fine, it was just the repercussion of blood loss. Othniel arrived before Elanor awoke, something Sam had rather wished to avoid. The sun was just beginning to rise.

"Look," began Sam, ready to head off Othniel's sure lecture.

"No, you look," Othniel replied. "You endanger her. You are supposed to be good. You are supposed to care for humans." Sam couldn't disagree. "You have no regard for this girl. She is but a prop, a pretty thing to you."

"No she's not."

"Then why are you so careless?" Othniel demanded.

"I care for her," Sam assured the angel. "She matters. It was a stupid mistake. An accident."

"No," Othniel said. "It was a vendetta raised against you - and the chosen path was through Elanor." He looked down at her faintly stirring form, lowering his voice. "You are wasting my time if you cannot protect her."

"Am I an employee of yours?" Sam demanded. He felt awful, but wasn't exactly her guardian.

"Have you no concept of a ward?" Othniel boomed. His anger was overwhelming his need to keep Elanor comfortable. "Of course not. Or else the prophet would still live." It was a low blow, but Othniel didn't know it. For him, it was a consideration... a train of thought. But for Sam it was an all out attack. "She shall remain here with the angels. She will be protected here." But Elanor had woken. She sat up from the table she'd been layed out on.

"No," she said. "No." Both tall figures turned to her - anger evident in Othniel's eyes, sadness in Sam's.

"Elanor," breathed Sam.

"I don't want to just hang around angels," Elanor said softly, pushing away from the table. She was still a bit dizzy - but there was no pain.

"We can protect you."

"But I would go insane," Elanor told him. She reached for Othniel, insisting on a hug. "I miss you." Sam stepped away. He always felt strange when she was being affectionate with the angel. She and Othniel spoke, as she clarified that her needs were more than what even a large group of angels could provide. Freedom and human interaction, even if it was the sparce humor of Samuel Winchester. She explained to him that if it were Othniel himself she would consider it but that he had better things to do. The quick conversation also confirmed what they had suspected about the situation with Metatron. That they couldn't make him talk - particularly without Castiel's consent who had still not surfaced. Sam and Elanor departed not long after. Othniel needed to return to his task, and he left when they did.

The drive was long, and Elanor slept after they'd gone by the hotel to get the last of her things. He pulled into a Biggersons, watching Elanor as they walked inside. She had changed from her bloody clothes into comfortable travel wear - a simple shirt and yoga pants. They ate, Elanor was starving but her tiredness had over-taken her need for food.

"How are you doing?" Sam asked gingerly. She'd been quiet even when she wasn't asleep. He hoped she was angry, not scarred. Though he wouldn't have blamed her for either.

"I'm fine," she replied softly. She didn't meet his eye over the pile of french fries before her.

"Do you want anything else?" he asked, flipping to deserts. She shook her head.

"No. But if we see a shoe store on the way, we should stop." Her little boots had been injured last night, and it was silly but they were the only real shoes she owned. They were okay, but it wasn't something she could continue to wear nonstop. He nodded, continuing to eat - but watching her. They did stop for shoes, and he waited patiently as she found a couple of pairs. She bought black boots, with a low wooden heel - and a pair of mary-janes in burgundy. They weren't the most sensible shoes for someone who had to be able to run and duck and tumble. She didn't mean for it to be direct rebellion - she simply chose the shoes she wanted.

The rest of the trip was pretty quiet, and they got back to the bunker well into the night. She went to bed without a word - and Sam sat up. He would read for pleasure tonight. And he did for a couple of hours. As he walked down the hall he passed Elanor's door and thought he heard her. He tapped lightly - if she was just talking in her sleep he didn't want to wake her. But he heard her moan again, a strangled sound. He opened the door, the light from the corridor spilling over her form in the bed. She was clearly asleep, but she tossed to the side. A nightmare? Or just an active dream? Sam didn't know. And decided not to wake her. He thought she should rest though he wasn't sure how much rest she could get from such active sleep. He turned in, upon shutting down most of the lights in the place.


	14. Chapter 14: Stargazer

Chapter 14: Stargazer

Elanor rose early, she'd had a little trouble sleeping. She didn't bother to cook breakfast and went straight to the training rooms for a work out. The weekend had left her feeling particularly weak. She had decided she didn't like the feeling. She wasn't happy playing the victim, though it was never a role she chose for herself. She'd brought her laptop down with her, watching Tae Kwon Do videos, and pulverizing the punching bag. She would have to ask Sam to spar with her for some real training, she knew. She laid every hit on the inanimate object.

But she knew Sam would hold back. She wished there were someone else who would be a little less afraid of injuring her. Yes, she was short. And weak. And typically afraid of causing or recieving pain. But she needed to learn. She was determined to learn. As she padded over the soft mat - pounding kicks into the punching bag she didn't notice Sam materializing in the door way. She jumped grossly when he spoke.

"You're at it early," he said mildly. She looked at him, hair escaping from her ponytail. She was winded, and shining faintly from the exertion.

"I don't like getting sweaty after my morning shower," she told him. He nodded, moving into the room. He wore basketball shorts, and a t-shirt. He was barefoot, which was a little unusual for Sam. "Do you want to spar with me?" He seemed torn. It was an easy request and one she'd made before and he had agreed to. Though she was right - he held back.

"You're not tired?" he asked. In truth she was exhausted. Between the lack of sleep and the hour or more of exercise. But she was also determined. She shook her head, straightening the mat and squaring off with him. He took the cue - bracing himself for whatever attack she was going to throw. She came at him like a fury. Jabs, kicks, palm-thrusts. He met or parried each blow, and as she continue he started to throw his own. She was outclassed and outmatched, but it didn't slow her. Even when his elbow collided painfully with her shoulder. She pushed up against him, bouncing back and throwing a punch toward his face. He dodged it - but just barely, the soft side of her hand just grazing along his jaw. It was an awkward match, for he stood a veritable foot above her, even without shoes. And then an unfortunate thing happened. She turned her head as he feinted to her left - and he caught the edge of her nose. She swore, backing up a pace. He stopped completely, leaning in to look at her. It wasn't broken, but her nose stung painfully and was beginning to bleed.

"Let me get ice."

"No, come on," she corrected, squaring off again. He shook his head. "Sam."

"No, I think that's enough for today."

"Come on, Sam. There aren't any breaks in the field. Let's do this." He was conflicted again. He desperately wanted out of her ferver, but he didn't want to leave her here to exhaust herself. But he continued to protest and she grew sullen.

"I'm going to go find us something to eat," Sam said.

"Fine," she replied. "Just get out and let me get back to it."

"You don't want to go freshen up?" he offered. She leveled a stare at him.

"Not particularly." Though she did a few minutes after he left. Her nose still stung a bit, but her eyes weren't watering anymore. It was lucky it hadn't broken, she knew. It wasn't something they could have fixed easily. She scrubbed herself under the blast of the showerhead. A few minutes later she was dressed for the day - her hair braided back but still wet. She met Sam in the main room. He had cooked for them, mostly eggs. But she was thankful for the food.

"How's your face?" he asked. He looked over at her as she sat.

"Fine," replied Elanor.

"It stop bleeding okay?"

"It had stopped while we were still downstairs talking," she said.

"Right." There were a few moments of silence. "I'm sorry for last night," said Sam. "It was clumsy of me to allow them to follow us." Elanor shrugged.

"I'm not mad at you," she said. But she knew she couldn't quite pretend she wasn't upset in a general way. When had her life become this?

"But you are mad?" he prompted.

"Not at you," she repeated. "I'm just tired of knowing this side of life and still not having any answers of my own." He bobbed his head, trying to indicate his sympathy. She was an aggressive trainer for a few days, she kept herself busy and exhausted. But by the end of the week she was already beginning to itch for an open sky. For people. It was funny, she knew. Before her little coma she'd been quite the recluse. Speaking only to her nearest friends - or her small family. She'd seen Regina maybe once a week, but still her more than anyone else. Most of her interractions were held through technology. Phones or computers.

They found themselves sharing another game of chess when Sam suggested they start drawing blood. She agreed, and he only took about a pint from her. Enough to make her a little woozy. She was getting a little tired of being faint from blood-loss, but at least this was for a cause.

"Sam," she began. He looked up at her, still managaging the needle in her arm. "Do angels feel rejection?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Like we do? Like, is there a chance Othniel's feelings would be hurt by my coming here instead of following his preferences?" Sam thought on it. He knew angels felt rejection because they were all so bent out of shape about God leaving. But... that was the pain of being abandoned by a parent. He explained that before directly addressing her question.

"I don't think Othniel would have taken that personally. He's not a big fan of mine but he wants you to be safe and happy. And if you told him anything that made him think this was an okay choice I'm sure he's fine with it. Has he been checking in on you?"

"More than before," said Elanor. "We've texted every day, I had to walk him through it on the phone, first." Sam smiled a little. He knew how frustrating it could be to explain something to an angel. She sighed a little as he finished, and closed her arm, resting her chin on her palm as she moved one of her pawns forward. It was just a mild side-game.

"Well that's good, though. Keeping in contact." She nodded.

"How long..." She shook her head.

"What?" prompted Sam.

"How long do you think it'll be before I can go home? Do you think I'll ever see the girls again?" Sam didn't want to tell her never. He didn't want to take whatever hope she had away from her. "I just want to know if I should decorate my room or not," she added. She knew he felt the weight of her situation - she wanted to lighten it somehow.

"You should decorate," he told her. They both knew she had put out the bait and he had taken it.

"Will I -" again she hesitated. "Will I be able to stay here?"

"Of course," said Sam.

"Even when Dean comes back?"

"You can stay as long as you need to." She smiled and couldn't entirely quell the tears in her eyes. "Don't do that," he mumbled. He was just uncomfortable.

"Sorry," she said with a watery laugh. "I am going to decorate, though. I think it would help me." He nodded. And over the next few days she did start to decorate. He knew she was working at the project, though he hadn't seen it. Until she came into the research room, her hands clasped behind her back. She looked a bit messy - curls escaping from her ponytail and a smudge of dust here and there. It was cute. She watched Sam expectantly.

"What's up?" he asked. They hadn't stopped drawing blood. They were a little under halfway done with what was necessary for the summoning spell.

"Do you want to see?"

"See what?"

"The finished product," she replied effortlessly. "It's a little messy now because I just finished - but it's done." He stood, taking a moment to stretch before following her to her room. His mouth nearly fell open. He'd thought Dean was a nester. He had nothing on this girl. The concrete walls were almost completely covered. One side of the room was covered with contact paper, she had built a wardrobe against the wall as well, which was a smart improvement to the chest of drawers all of the rooms were equipped with. A large cork board stood on the chest of drawers, now against the other wall. Lights were strewn above her bed - and sheer curtains hung from the ceiling to surround it. Overall the room had taken on an open and airy appearance. Sam was impressed.

"It's like out of a magazine," he said. She beamed. "I thought you were all about books."

"I am," she said. "But I also love fashion and decorating. A girl can have many interests." He nodded, taking her words to heart. "And since I can't exactly go browsing through Bebe whenever the mood strikes me, I'm making pretty things here." She sat on her bed. Sam liked the way she looked, a little messy and homey - perfectly framed by her elegantly redesigned room. She looked, at least for the moment, happy. So he went back to his business and didn't see her again. When he stopped in to offer her dinner he realized she was sleeping and withdrew again.

He sat with the large tome in one of the more comfortable chairs and set to reading. He read well into the night for it was after midnight when he heard the scream. He leapt to his feet, his knife already in hand, and bolted down the hall to Elanor's room. He burst open the door only to find her still asleep. But mumbling incoherently. He edged in, watching her. A nightmare, he realized. He hesitated, unsure whether or not to wake her. But how many days had it been since he'd seen her last nightmare as she tossed and turned after the vampire abduction. How many nightmares had she suffered through? As he stood there hesitating he focused in on how strange she'd been acting - between fighting and decorating and... not eating, he realized. He stepped in, and sat on the edge of her bed - gripping her calf through the blanket.

"Elanor," he spoke. She woke quickly. Too quickly, so that the terror of the dreams still surrounded her.

"Sam," she asked. "Are you okay?" He smiled softly.

"You were having a bad dream," he said. The twinkling lights she'd left on lit the room in a pinkish glow. Her eyes were heavy and confused. She sighed, swallowing back the fear and the sleep. "What was it?"

"Vampires," she said, lowering back into the bed.

"Have you been resting at all?"

"Not really," she replied. "I can't seem to close my eyes without finding one of my fears in the dark." He waited, wondering if he could be of any help. She didn't tell him the entirety of the dream. How it was Sam they had tied to a chair with tubes coming from him - draining him of his life force. And how it was Elanor who struggled against the brutes who laughed at her when she fought and usually ended by biting into her overly exposed throat. She didn't tell him that the dream was about a botched rescue.

"Do you want some water?"

"Sam, do you have allies?" Elanor asked instead. He glanced back at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," began Elanor, shifting to sit up again. "I mean someone you can count on."

"Other than you?" Elanor couldn't hide the clutch in her heart, though Sam thought it was an appreciation rather than fear. "I have... Jody. And Castiel. And a friend who's out of the life." Elanor nodded. "Why?" She didn't particularly want to explain herself. Or, more specifically, to have to listen to his pep-talk if she told him.

"Just wondering."

"You're worried," said Sam.

"Of course I'm worried. I'm living behind the veil."

"Behind the veil is worse," Sam mumbled.

"What?" she asked. She genuinely hadn't heard him.

"Nothing," replied Sam. "It's not important." She eyed him for a moment.

"I think I'm going to take a sleeping pill," Elanor said.

"Do you have any?"

"No," she replied. She laughed. "I was hoping you did."

"I do," he told her. He left the room and she followed, walking barefoot behind him. As he entered his room she realized she'd never seen the inside of it. He always kept his door closed. But she leaned in the doorway as he went to his bedside table. It was quite sparse, though several books lay about the room. From the doorway she could see a shotgun beneath his bed, and a knife in an altered sheath that was attached to it, near the headboard. But as far as personal effects went, there was nothing discernible. He returned with a small green pill.

"What is it?"

"Compressed, powdered sleep," Sam replied. She took it, dry swallowing the medicine. "I would suggest water." She drank a glass and then went back to bed. He didn't hear her after that.

The second week of October was quiet. After the first failure, and the hopeful lead of Metatron turned out to be useless, Elanor and Sam were quiet. Studious. Along with drawing blood on a semi-daily schedule, Elanor had begun to try to learn Enochian. She had underestimated the gruelling task. Today was her birthday, and Elanor treated herself to a couple of small spa-things around the bunker. She started with a bath, allowing her own private celebration as she soaked in the bubbles. And she made her favorite foods, slicing papaya and mango, though they were a bit out of season. She was cooking plantanes in a pan, when she heard Sam speaking in the other room.

She stepped out, and saw Crowley, standing at the end of the long table with Sam.

"I have a little gift for you, songbird," Crowley said, lifting a small paper bag. He'd never used a nickname with her before. She opened the loosened seal and withdrew a fold of tissue paper. She reached in, hooking her finger around a chain and allowed a length of jewelry to spill forth.

The necklace was beautiful. A rose gold chain and setting hosted the most beautiful amber beads Elanor had ever seen. Instead of a portrait of the virgin was a small two-sided amulet. On one side was the demon protection symbol, on the other was an angel ward. The crucifix was a rose-gold frame, that melded perfectly to the narrowly sculpted amber cross.

"It's genuine," Crowley said. "The impressive bit is the amber - you can get that pink gold just about anywhere. But that amber doesn't have any twiddly bits caught in it, that's why it shines so brightly." Elanor looked at Sam. She'd never been particularly enamored with jewelry but this... this one was special. She slipped it over her head, fluffing out her coppery hair over the top of the rosary chain. She didn't notice the faint look of consternation on Sam's face.

"This is gorgeous," she murmured.

"The important thing is that you can't be found out or possessed if you're wearing it. Angels or demons, you're hidden," Crowley added, nodding to Sam.

"Dean can't find her?" Sam asked. Crowley nodded, bouncing on his heels. Elanor nodded vaguely.

"Well it's beautiful," she said. She felt strange. Happy but also... strange. She wasn't sure if she should be overtly thankful or act as casual as Sam was. His utilitarian nature was overshadowing any fun he would have had. But she'd never had a better birthday gift. "Thank you so much." She hugged Crowley who immediately hugged her back, curiously without restraint. She turned to hug Sam but saw that he had moved away from them, and had sat back at the large table. She looked back at Crowley and found that he had tears in his eyes. Sam glanced up, apparently, because the next thing she heard was his voice.

"Are you crying, Crowley?" Sam asked, humor lacing his voice.

"Shut up," Crowley snapped.

"Been a long time since you've been hugged?" Elanor asked, stepping closer to the softening demon king. He raised a hand, bidding her to stay back. But he nodded before disappearing. "That was weird," she said to Sam. He nodded.

"Yes, it was. But he hasn't been his usual self since I almost made him human."

"This was really nice of him," she said. "I miss celebrating things. And this is probably as good as it'll get for now." He closed his laptop. Watching her.

"It's your birthday?" he said carefully. She nodded. "How old are you, now?" She grinned.

"Twenty-five."

"Well," he said, pushing away from the table. He marched into the kitchen and emerged with a bottle of sweet-looking liqueur. "Happy Birthday."

"Where did that come from?" She asked, reaching out to read the bottle.

"I got it so that you might be able to celebrate with us when we healed Dean. Since you don't drink the good stuff."

"Oh, Sam," Elanor replied with a wry smile. "This is the good stuff." He laughed softly, low in his throat.

"Anyway, to you," he continued, pouring two small glasses and encouraging her to toast. She did - the glasses clinking together.

"You know, it's supposed to be bad luck to toast to yourself," she said.

"Well I've broken a lot of mirrors in my day," he replied. "You'll probably live."

"Maybe that's why your life has been such a wild ride," she retorted.

"Probably," he admitted. He seemed to pause, maybe a genuine consideration. "But I don't think so.

"Yeah, sure..." She left the tease hanging, and found herself holding the crucifix in her palm. "Why did Crowley bring me a birthday present?" Sam shrugged. "Do you trust him?"


	15. Chapter 15: The World Is Stone

Chapter 15: The World Is Stone

"Do you trust Crowley, Sam?"

"Not even as far as I can throw him," Sam replied. "He's self-serving. He's a demon. I don't know if he's trying to hurt you. But it is in his best interest to get Dean off the bender, so for now I guess I believe it if he's trying to keep you out of the war path." Elanor nodded. Sensible.

"Okay."

"How have you been doing?" Sam asked, taking a drink of the frothy concoction. He was not impressed but she seemed to like it well enough. She got quiet. "Have the nightmares stopped?"

"Mostly. You know, I never told you what it was."

"Vamps. I figured you were reliving the abduction?" She shrugged, and then shook her head with a sigh.

"No, Sam. I mean, yeah vampires - but no. I'm worried about you."

"Me?" He was surprised. He was fine. But she nodded.

"If I'm your back-up you're screwed," she told him frankly. "That's the dream."

"Then it's lucky that I'm your back-up," he said lightly. He was trying to make the joke, turn the conversation. But he had started the path and couldn't deter her now.

"I'm serious. I have to be more baggage than assistance, right?"

"Well, Elanor, it's not like I take you on hunts. I don't even hunt very much anymore." She thought of his trips, if that wasn't very much then the books were more accurate than she had realized. He swiped at his hair. "I don't understand."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean - where exactly is this coming from? How did my getting you kidnapped lead to your worrying about my safety?" She pursed her lips. She had been wondering something similar.

"Would you have gotten kidnapped?" Sam's eyes widened slightly in understanding.

"You think because you're vulnerable you make me vulnerable." She shrugged, but didn't meet his eye, and drank. She didn't taste it - but it wasn't from the effect of the drink. "I don't know how to make you feel better about this," said Sam. "I don't think it's particularly sound logic but... I can't help how you feel. Though, if you choose to see your presence as a vulnerability I guess I have to point out that it's something I'm ready to accept." She met his eyes then, mild confusion in her wintry blue.

"What?" Sam pursed his lips and sighed softly before answering.

"Getting Dean back is my number one goal. You are an integral part of that plan, for a few reasons apparently. If a side-effect of you being around was that I spent half of my time on fire, I would still have you around." She smiled a little, just for the phrasing. Her eyes were still haunted. "But also, you're not useless. How many times have I called you for extra information? I'm about as studious as they come and you've combed through these records and books faster than I could have imagined we would. So you're not a hunter; you can learn that - if you think you should."

"But what if something happens to you? I'm an okay shot but I still don't think I even have it in me. I'd be useless."

"But still wildly more useful than you'd be if I'd never met you." She didn't have a response and none came to her. The conversation turned to happier things, prompted by Sam. Though it was still the business at hand, it was more comforting to be distracted by a task than stewing in her own anxiety.

The dreams didn't stop immediately. But Elanor was sleeping through the night, something she had missed in the days following the vampire attack. Sam took a job, leaving his alternative numbers, and the number to the woman named Jody Mills. Elanor toyed with the idea of just calling her to see what she was about. Who she was - and if she could have been any fun. But she didn't want to worry anyone. She called Othniel once or twice but he was busy, and even when he answered he didn't stay on for long. Just long enough to see if she needed anything.

So she spent days in the bunker, adding decorations here and there. Highlights of color, glass things that wouldn't curse a person for touching them. There was still a bit of cataloguing to do in the storage rooms, things to identify - suspicious glass bottles and vials with no label which Sam had warned her not to open. But it didn't mean she couldn't put them away, out of reach unless they decided specifically to access it.

It was the fifth day of her solitude when she heard the door of the bunker open and close. She stepped out, strange nerves tingling in her abdomen as she moved. She was excited to see Sam, she realized, turning back and flattening herself against the wall for a chance to compose herself. No, she was excited to see anyone at all. She got back to her path and realized she didn't hear anything else. No clumsy footsteps to indicate he was tired or hurt, no plunking his bag down on the research table. And the nerves in her stomach shifted slightly. She felt uneasy. She carefully lifted a small bottle of holy water, gripping her rosary with her other hand as she came around the corner.

The room was empty, and she nearly sighed. But then she smelled it. Sulfur. She crouched down, unsure of who or why the demon was here. Did it know she lived here? She glanced at her demon pistol sitting on the table with the last book she'd been reading. And closed her hand even tighter over the holy water, uncapping it silently. She moved, slowly forward, reaching out for the gun and barely breathing.

But then strong arms were around her, wrestling her without effort back away from the gun. She splashed the water into her air and over her shoulder. She heard a subtle hiss and then laughter, and then she was thrown into the floor. And to her horror she looked up into green eyes. So like Sam's and yet not. Brilliant olive and kelley greens.

"Hi," said the demon. She scrambled back, reaching up onto the table for the gun. But he didn't even blink to have her sliding back across the floor. She hit the bookshelf, and gasped at the pain. Just below her shoulder-blades, and again just above her hip-bone. "Where's Sam?"

"Around," she attempted to bluff. Dean merely smiled at her.

"Yeah. If he was around he would have been on me at the front door. What? Is he out getting some of the good stuff?" Dean turned, looking around the room. "You've been decorating." Elanor didn't speak. "So how long's he been gone?" She considered how to play this out - a few days? a week? How long was long enough that Dean would rather leave than stick around.

"Why are you here?" Dean's smile disappeared.

"I'd like you to answer my questions," Dean said. "But, hell - a little torture never hurt nobody." With that he gripped her by her orange hair, and dragged her to her feet. She was just praying he would step into a demon trap when she realized where he was taking her. The dungeon - chains. He was going to chain her down, she thought in a panic, renewing her struggles. At least there was a trap, she thought. At least he would be stuck. But then he stepped over the line and didn't hesitate or slow when he stepped out again.

"Let me go," she said lowly.

"Would you rather be strapped to a chair or the wall?" He let her go but she didn't run. She knew she couldn't get away. "Don't worry," he added. "I'll decide. The chair's good because it'll keep you a little less exhausted. I mean you'll be exhausted either way." He stopped, glancing at her and smiling again. "Ah what the hell - wall it is." And though she fought him at every turn he had her hands cuffed above her - so high she couldn't protect herself. She was strung up and had to brace herself on her toes in order to stand.

"He'll be home, soon," said Elanor. Already her shoulders were objecting. "You know I have a guardian angel." She regretted the words as they left her mouth - it might indicate something to Dean. If he knew why Aboddon had wanted her, if he knew it was her at all...

"I'd kill it," Dean said lightly. He had finished chaining her to the wall, and he stood back to examine his handy work. "It wouldn't be the first angel I've killed. This week, even." That was new, but she was having a hard time focusing on his words. The way he looked at her made her squirm. She tried to stay adamant - keep her jaw strong and her eyes cold.

"You know," said the demon. "I've always admired the way a woman looks... all tied up." Then he laughed. "Look at you trying to be brave. Honey, I can smell the stress on you. Just like I can smell," he leaned close, inhaling against her throat. "All kinds of things."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to tell Sammy to get off my back."

"We've been laying low," Elanor said.

"You," Dean corrected. "You've been laying low. Every time Sam leaves this bunker he tries to summon me. I don't know why he bothers, really. It's not like I don't know where he lives." With that Dean reached back, pulling out a small blade. Elanor stiffened - unintentionally. Dean just smiled.

"Liar." She was trying to focus on his words now.

"I'm not the liar," Dean told her. "Why would I lie? I have nothing to lose." He began to unbotton her shirt, his blade in his mouth.

"Get off me!" she spat. She wriggled, struggling against the chains and the pressure of his hands. He wasn't using any of his demon juice. She didn't understand why. "Why are you bothering, anyway? Don't you have a handle on your power?" Dean's eyes cut to hers, but he simply took the blade out of his mouth and trailed it along her abdomen. She thought of screaming for Othniel... but she couldn't have him come. She couldn't let Dean kill him. And she didn't doubt that he could. All of the angels were getting weaker - and that included Othniel. Without a word he slid the knife into the soft flesh of her belly. It was a shallow cut, she knew it was only flesh he hit. Then he did it again. And she screamed.

She was trying to calculate how quickly she would bleed out if he hit one of those important veins. She was trying to figure out how long she might have until Sam came back. But while she was trying to focus on these things she realized Dean was holding back. He could have killed her. Easily, she thought, as she pressure-breathed through the pain. If he wanted her screaming the whole time he could have had it, but he was giving her breaks between each slice and though she was being carved at - and could see the blood on his hands every time he pulled away - he wasn't really damaging her.

He touched his hand to his lips, licking the blood off of them. Then he grinned again.

"You know, back when I was a human... my first stint in hell... I learned to torture pretty well. One of the best, or so I was told. You know Sam thinks he started the apocalypse. It wasn't him. It was me. See," Dean continued, as he filletted another inch-deep wound. He had works up to her side, the soft stretch between her rib and her hip. He was carving at her waist-line. "I jumped off the rack. I told myself it was because I couldn't handle the pain anymore. But now?" Dean smiled. "Now, I've come to understand myself. I wanted to. I loved it. And to be honest, I still love it."

Dean's ministrations continued and throughout the night Elanor screamed herself hoarse. She was defenseless and vulnerable, but there was something strange about Dean's self control. He would comment on occasion about how attractive she was, or how easily he could "tarnish" her. But never made a sexual move. He would comment on how easily he could take her life or even her soul, and make her into one of "his". She didn't know what he meant, exactly - other than him threatening to turn her into a demon. But it was strange because though he talked about these things and used them as threats he never enacted any of it. She wasn't sure how long they'd been there. But blood had begun to pool below her - her shorts were drenched with it.

He had long since abandoned her abdomen, cutting into the soft under-side of her arm, and the meaty flesh of her thighs. She had fainted once that she was aware of.

"That all you got, tough guy?" She had gone through the motions. Hatred, fear, and tears. She had rounded out to sardonic anger. Dean chuckled.

"I can say this, you've got spunk."

"Good to know."

"Most girls would've begged by now."

"You know girls are supposed to have a higher pain tolerance," she gasped. "Was that true in hell?" Dean seemed to consider it for a moment.

"Probably. I never really paid attention." She was fading again, she could feel it. Dehydration and blood-loss.

"I'm not going to last a whole lot longer," she told him. And why not? What would he do? Kill her? She wasn't sure if she would have minded at the moment.

"What, you're getting off already? You adapt so well."

"I mean blood loss," she said. "Pretty soon you're gonna have an unconscious victim on your hands."

"Why are you telling me that?"

"I'd like the chance to tell you to shove your questions right up your backside," she replied. He laughed a bit, and leaned toward her face. Not once had he let his eyes meld back to their green. Maybe he thought it was more intimidating. He wouldn't have been wrong. He nuzzled under her ear this time and she tensed again.

"What questions?" And for some reason the thought that he was simply doing this for the kicks got to her. She cracked a little - anger spewing out of her.

"You ass!" she called. And now she couldn't help it. Now her self-preservation was kicking in. She began to pray. But it wasn't Othniel she called to. "Castiel, current leader of the angels - this is Elanor." Dean's face had grown serious. "It's an emergency. Tell Sam -" And suddenly Elanor couldn't speak anymore. Dean pressed a kiss against her throat. Misleadingly gentle and then Dean stepped away from her, passing easily into the demon trap.

"I can't have Sam knowing what he's walking into." But Elanor's prayers continued silently. She didn't know if it worked. She prayed to Castiel, and to Hannah who was usually at angel HQ whether either of her "male" associates were. "I don't think they can hear it if you don't say it aloud." Dean waved the knife around. "Something about waves." Elanor narrowed her eyes. After the short reprieve Dean got back to work. This time he burned her, cauterizing the wounds, and forming others. Her blood was sticky on the floor when Dean stilled. Her head was lulled back, partially supported by her exhausted arm, mostly held in place by the dark brick behind her. Hours passed, she wanted to think the sun had risen but there was no indication of the light - just her internal clock.

She heard noises beyond the dungeon - whoever had come wasn't making a soft entrance. She saw Sam over Dean's shoulder - who turned, rising to his full height. He put the blade down and stood in the center of the demon trap. Useless as it was. Sam was a vision, backed by the yellowed light beyond the room he seemed to glow, his hair settling about his shoulders. He'd been running.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, bracing forward. Elanor and Dean saw Sam dump a bucket of water toward the demon but all three knew it would be of little impact. But what happened next surprised Elanor. Castiel followed Sam in, and light and wind filled the air. Sam had begun to chant something - an exorcism? Dean seemed to twitch, to struggle. Castiel drew dangerously close to the knight of hell - and they grappled. Though Elanor knew Castiel's grace was fading he looked powerful and intact as they warred.

Sam was working, too. And it took only a moment's glance from Dean - to look at Sam holding the beginning of a spell - to disappear. Elanor was weeping, sobbing shamelessly as Castiel came to her.

"Don't," she said. Castiel looked into her face.

"What?"

"Your grace," she replied. Castiel dismissed her, and placed a hand to her bare stomach. She felt the wounds closing - felt the damage recede. And though physically she felt able again, she still shook. Castiel sat, then. And Sam freed Elanor from her bonds. She collapsed against him, smears of blood still on her skin though the wounds and scars were gone.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked. She thought she was shaking. And then she realized that it was sam, who's hands trembled slightly as he held her.

"I'm fine. Let's get Castiel back to the angels," Elanor said. Her mind was clearing quickly, and though she was exhausted she needed to speak to Sam. Privately. Sam nodded, and they turned to regard him. He looked haggard. The supernaturally fueled fight, and the healing had nearly depleted his energy. Elanor changed, tying up her blood-tinged hair and washing off the worst of the blood stains. The car ride was awkward, and Elanor opted for the spacious back seat. She wanted to sleep, if it was possible.

"Sam," Castiel began.

"I know, Cas. I'm sorry," Sam intervened quickly.

"I can't allow your brother to... wreak havoc on the world."

"I know. That's why we're stopping it."

"If this continues..." Castiel paused. Elanor knew he wasn't looking at Sam - his eyes cast toward the tree-line though, she was sure, unseeing. "I'm going to have to destroy Dean."


	16. Chapter 16: This Wheel's On Fire

Chapter 16: This Wheel's on Fire

"Cas," Sam uttered. He was shocked, though he was trying to contain the emotion.

"He's not himself anymore. When I look at him I..." Castiel paused, turning his head forward again - watching the darkening road. "I don't see Dean anymore."

"He's not lost."

"I fear he is."

"He's not, Cas."

"Sam, I-" But it was Elanor who intervened, sensing that an argument might erupt.

"Cas... he doesn't hurt Sam. He didn't kill me. I didn't know him before but that doesn't really scream heartless demon to me."

"Demons are fickle, Elanor."

"I know that."

"And you want to argue for his purity? After the hours you've spent with him? I felt the damage he did to you," Cas retorted. He turned in his seat. But Elanor was stubborn.

"Damage," she agreed calmly. She had figured out how to speak with angels - their haughtiness was one thing, but they wanted to be right. "He wanted to talk to Sam." They weren't far from the angels.

"Cas, is there anything we can do to help you?" Sam asked. He stepped out of the car with him when they got there - Elanor overheard their conversation and she watched. Secrets weren't something she was interested in respecting. Cas didn't look at Sam's face. He never seemed to.

"No. And this is an angel problem." But Elanor could see the frustration in Sam's jawline.

"You're my friend, Cas. Your problem, whether it's angelic or not, is my problem."

"You focus on Dean. If it's my last act, Sam... He will be human or he will be dead."

"We're going to cure him," Sam told him. "We just have to... do it."

"You won't try again, correct?" Castiel asked. "You won't survive."

"I'm not worried about me," Sam told him. "But no. I don't think I can." That was the end of the conversation - they hugged before Castiel went inside the nondescript building and Sam slid back into the car. Elanor had moved to the front seat. Sam started the engine again withou ado, and set off toward the bunker.

"Sam I have to ask you something?"

"I'm so sorry, Elanor. That... you were there. That Dean came."

"I don't blame you. But Sam -"

"I'm still sorry," Sam pressed.

"Sam listen to me." Her voice was sharper than she had meant for it to be and she sucked in a steadying breathe. Sam looked at her. "What do you do when you leave the bunker?"

"I go on hunts. I take jobs. I've told you."

"Is that all?"

"What are you asking me?" There was silence for a moment and Elanor found herself considering her position in the world. In Sam's world. In the equation that would eventually lead to the curing of Dean.

"Dean said you summon him."

"You take a demon's word over mine?"

"So now he's just a demon?"

"He's not just a demon," Sam deflected. "But even when he was human he could lie to get what he wanted." Elanor chewed on her lip for a moment. How far was she willing to push? But she found herself zeroing in on Dean's response when she had accused him of lying.

"Why would he lie? What does he have to gain by hiding the truth?"

"What do I?"

"My obedience?" And at once she regretted the word. She tried to soften it. "My cooperation," she corrected. Sam's face was stony. His eyes had hardened and so had the line of his mouth.

"Are you doing anything against your will?"

"Of course not."

"Is there anything you don't want to be doing?"

"That's not what I mean-"

"What's the problem, then?" He was angry, she realized.

"Sam, stop the car."

"Why?"

"Stop the car!" He pulled to the side, tires crunching over the harsh gravel of the shoulder. She stepped out and he followed. "I want to be able to see your face if we're arguing," she said.

"We're arguing?"

"You're being defensive. And... hostile, I think. Why?"

"I'm just stressed," Sam said. He was deflating quickly.

"Are you drinking demon blood?"

"What?" The anger was back - just that quickly. "No!"

"Then what is happening when you leave? It made me think Dean was worried about you."

"Dean's not," Sam laughed scathingly. "Dean's not worried about me."

"Do you summon him?"

"Sometimes," Sam admitted.

"Why did you lie?"

"Because you would try to stop me?"

"Why on Earth would I try to stop you? Hasn't everything so far shown you that I trust you?" She stepped closer to him, barely containing the urge to poke him in his abnormally large chest.

"Because - just because."

"The only thing I'd prevent you from doing is challenging Dean to a freaking duel! Or letting Lucifer ride you around like a show-pony. Anything short of sure death... and even then, Sam - when we tried to cure Dean I thought it would end with you dead and me suddenly in charge of a recently rehabilitated demon. But I know you can't live with yourself without helping him." She stopped, realizing she was beginning to babble.

"And now?"

"What do you mean 'now'?"

"After Dean tortured you!" Sam expulsed. A car passed them, the driver staring at them.

"That doesn't change anything, Sam. I can't go home. Othniel is busy. I'm going to help you bring Dean back."

"You want to know what I do when I leave? If I'm not killing something I'm figuring out our next step."

"What have you figured out?"

"I've figured out that it has to be you."

"Me?"

"You," Sam affirmed. "To do the ritual to cure Dean."

"So you won't die."

"No," Sam pressed. "So it will work." The car had turned around, and pulled alongside them.

"Do you guys need any help?" It was a young man, and the lights of the nova glowed against Elanor's legs on the dim road.

"We're fine, thanks," Sam answered but the woman in the car slid out and came to stand next to Elanor.

"Are you okay?" Her warm brown eyes bore into Elanor's and Elanor squirmed slightly.

"Everything's fine," she assured her. The woman had long brown hair, and beautiful olive skin. The woman reached for Elanor's hand and Elanor resisted the urge to pull it away.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," Elanor said. The woman's eyes trailed downward, focusing on the rosary around Elanor's neck.

"Catholic?"

"It's more of a good luck charm." Immediately the woman stepped back, and slipped back into the car.

"You guys be safe," the man said before pulling away.

"They thought you were abusing me," Elanor said. But she was still uncomfortable. Something about the woman had made her uncomfortable. Elanor moved back to the car. Sam followed suit but didn't pull away.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm just tired, Sam." She paused. "Think they saw the blood in my hair?"

"Are we okay?" asked Sam.

"I think so," said Elanor.

Days passed and they were nearing their blood quota. Elanor was a little spooked - the security she had come to trust at the bunker was shaken. Twice Sam had entered a room and Elanor had spilled whatever drink she had. But over time she gained her steadiness back. He only caught her in a nightmare once. She had assured him that she was being chased by wolves - the wildlife variety - through a dim forest.

This was a dream she had recurringly, when she stood in a cream-colored dress with a woman with blonde hair and brown eyes. They ran together from the wolves, until the woman turned and lifted her hands into the air. And always, she would look back at Elanor, smile, and then disappear in a flash of light. Usually Elanor awoke. She was a bit comforted by the change in pattern, however. On one hand it was nice to be dreaming in symbols and fantasies, on the other... she had grown suspicious of her dreams since the representation of Lucifer in Sam's body. Before long she was fidgeting and feeling the effects of cabin fever.

The perfect opportunity for escape presented itself on the calendar.

Elanor was thrilled with her costume. She had found a yellow and black striped dress in a thrift store, and waited for the other stores to carry the seasonal things to find a pair of wobbly antennae. On her lips she wore a dull ochre, and lined her eyes heavily, emphasizing her eyelashes and gaunting out the socket. When she bounded into the research room where Sam sat reading she noticed his hand twitch toward the gun he had on the table.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Celebrating Halloween, duh," she said.

"I nearly shot you."

"Thankfully your brain works faster than your hands do. Come on, let's go find a party." She pouted a little. She had drawn short lines around her face, to affect a fuzzy effect, and she wore the rosary Crowley had given to her.

"I really hate Halloween," Sam told her, returning to his book.

"Come on," she begged. "Please don't make me go alone." She twirled a little, feeling silly and happy. He sighed, looking at her again.

"Are you an artist?" he asked, gesturing toward his own face.

"I was a bit of a goth kid in highschool," she said, biting her lip. "Make-up skills like that don't really get left behind. Or at least mine didn't."

"I bet you can draw, though."

"Yeah," she said. "A little. I never could get used to the whole drawing-naked-men thing." Sam could imagine why. "Which is weird because when I drew it was mostly naked women."

"What are you, anyway?" he asked. She laughed.

"I think it's pretty obvious. I'm a bee!" He resisted the urge to smile at her.

"I'd really rather work."

"You can draw blood and then I won't drink and you can get super drunk," she bartered.

"You're usually more worried about alcohol than I am," he said.

"Fine. Consider it my birthday present."

"I needed to get you a present?" he asked.

"You do now," she returned. He laughed a little, fidgeting with the book. He was a man in his thirties being talked into a Halloween party. "Come on. When's the last time you went to a party to have fun." He thought on it, recalling that last Halloween with Jess. "Sorry," she added quickly as his face fell.

"No, it's fine," he returned, standing. "I don't have to dress up, right?"

"Of course not. You're just a psychopath. They look like everybody else." She raised the hem of her dress to slide her pistol into her thigh holster, he raised his eyebrows.

"When did you get that?" he asked.

"Lucky find," she replied, dropping the skirt.

"Is it part of the costume?"

"No, it's part of knowing demons and the like are real and in the world. The holster is just... a happy coincidence."

So she got him out of the bunker, and to a bar party. He drank and she stuck to the plan of not - she was impressed with all of the costumes but Sam stayed relatively paranoid, and she was realizing as the night continued - sullen. He stopped drinking before midnight, and they watched the contestants for the costume contest. She glanced at him, brooding out the window and steeled herself for whatever the mood was.

"Let's head out," Elanor suggested, rising to her feet. They slid into the Nova - Elanor at the wheel.

"I can't keep doing this," Sam said. Elanor looked to him, drawing off the bouncing orbs above her head.

"Doing what?"

"You constantly want to just go out and -" he cut off short, offering a harsh sigh instead.

"And what?" But he didn't answer, merely turned his head. "What, Sam? Have fun?"

"Yeah. Okay? This isn't a time to have fun. This is the time to work."

"For Dean." Sam sighed. They arrived at the bunker, making their way into the home in silence. Sam broke it, reigniting the conversation.

"Yes for Dean. But Elanor, this life isn't a party."

"I know that," she said. She fell quiet. She was unbearably aware of how much the life she was living now wasn't a party. She felt beaten. Sam had turned back to his book and Elanor started to walk away. Before she reached the passage, however, he spoke.

"I'm not trying to be mean."

"I know," she replied. "But Sam you don't let yourself live with joy. Even when everything is dark you have to give yourself a moment to enjoy the light." He didn't reply. "I mean, when was the last time you laughed or smiled where I wasn't trying to pull it out of you."

"I don't enjoy this life," Sam said.

"No," she agreed. "But you really have to enjoy life itself. Getting Dean back won't matter if there's no love left in you."

"He's my brother!" And Elanor knew that this was as near to saying he loved him as Sam would get right now.

"I know," murmured Elanor. "And I know you love him and you'll do whatever it takes. But he can't come home to a shell."

"You think I'm just an empty shell?" Sam asked. He was becoming irritated.

"I think you're in danger of it," she replied. "I think... I think maybe you want to be."

"You don't know what you're talking about," shot Sam. But Elanor didn't flinch, merely raised her chin in defiance of his tone. "I've lived as an empty shell. I spent over a year without a soul. I remember what that was." And though this was news to Elanor she didn't miss a beat.

"And what's the difference now, Sam? You're driven to one goal and nothing and no one will stand in your way. You're killing yourself like this."

"So?" Replied sam. "It doesn't matter, as long as I succeed."


	17. Chapter 17: Cities in Dust

Chapter 17: Cities in Dust

"It does matter." And there it was, she thought. The reckless drive she noticed sometimes. "Sam it really does matter. Everything your life has ever been... Everything you've ever done for the world. I'm not saying this life won't kill you. I'm just saying that it matters. You matter. Dean being redeemed - he's going to be a mess. You have to see it through. Just making him human again isn't saving him, okay?" Sam was quiet. It was, in his mind. Bringing back Dean's humanity was saving him.

"Do you think I'm slacking off?" Sam asked. Elanor sat. If they were going to have this conversation she was going to be seated. It seemed like Sam wanted to be angry.

"No," Elanor answered. "Do you think I am?" And for some reason Sam hadn't expected her to return his question.

"Yes," Sam expulsed. "No. Sometimes."

"Sam, you watch me walking around like a zombie most days. Most of the blood my body has made over the past month is in bags and syringes again. I know we're prepping for something big, again. Bigger than last time. But this isn't really my..." She hesitated. She didn't want to seem cruel.

"This isn't your cause," Sam supplied.

"I was going to say life. Which neither would be accurate. This is my life - I'm living it. And this is my cause - because I'm working for it. But... it's certainly not my cup of tea."

"This isn't anyone's cup of tea," Sam told her.

"I know, but I think I've handled these changes okay, you know? I think I'm doing alright and if I want to go out to a party - or get drunk every once in awhile - I think it's my right. I think I deserve that."

"I understand."

"I also think you need it. I could tell you corny jokes that have no meaning, or I could do what comes naturally to me and that's pull you out of this bunker and remind you that fun exists." Sam looked at though he were about to say something dark. She didn't think she was ready for it and had had enough of the drunken conversation. "I'm going to bed. The next time I insist on doing something fun you can bring this up again. If I'm drunk I'll probably be more willing," she told him. Again she started to exit but Sam sighed so she turned. "I'm not dismissing your thoughts. I just think... maybe you should have a clearer head."

She went to bed after that and left him with his thoughts. She felt bad for a couple of things she'd said - and she felt mildly guilty for forcing him to go out. She rose at her usual time, and though it was November first, she put on her bee antannae anyway. She felt cute in them, before making her way to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Sam was sleeping in, she noted. Nothing had stirred in the house, and she had no idea how late he'd been awake. So she cooked. Bacon and eggs. She was slicing some locally grown pears when she heard him. For just a second she stiffened - the intrusion had rattled her - but she was soothed when she heard the sniffle that was usually associated with a newly awake Sam.

"Breakfast!" she called. He stepped into the kitchen, and though he was clearly still sleepy he didn't look hungover. He thumped at one of her antannae and she laughed. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam said. She handed him a plate with heaping helpings of eggs and bacon and just shy of two whole pears. They ate in comfortable silence, or at least Elanor thought it was comfortable. Though when she realized it was quiet she grew tense. Sam took notice.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she squeaked.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No!" she said, maybe a bit too loudly. Sam's eyebrows quirked upward but Elanor laughed nervously. "I was thinking maybe you were."

"Mad at you?" She nodded. "I'm not."

"Okay." It was quiet for a moment, and Elanor chewed thoughtfully on the soft pear. "I've been thinking..." Sam made a muffled sound - continue. "I think we should try to contact Cain again."

"He said he would come to us."

"I know. But... it's just... maybe we can convince him to take the mark back." Sam stared at Elanor for a moment.

"Do you think that's likely?"

"I think... the fact that Dean has appeared twice without the blade means that he's still fighting its influence. Which means he doesn't want to be crazy or whatever."

"How does that take you back to Cain, though?"

"Well Cain mastered the violent impulses. You said even Aboddon was super evil but she was just a knight - not the knight with the mark of Cain."

"I'm still not following you."

"Oh," she sighed, lingering over a pause to gather her thoughts. "I think Cain will be easier to cure than Dean will."

"How?"

"Because he mastered its impulse?"

"Okay?"

"Also - healing Dean is a different pony than removing the mark. I think, maybe, if Cain has mastered its impulse as a demon maybe he can think with a clear mind when we make him human."

"What makes you think he'll go for that?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Hey, Sam..." He looked back to her face. She had grown serious. "Did you know someone named Joanna?" Sam's face grew quite somber and he sat back in his chair.

"Why?"

"It's silly. But... my nightmares have been replaced with this other dream. I'm running through woods and there are gray wolves chasing me. But I'm not alone. There's a girl - woman - running with me. We're both in pale dresses. She's really gorgeous." Elanor paused, visualizing the woman. "She has long blonde hair - kind of an ash gold even though that sounds like a contradiction. And she has brown eyes. She saves me at the end of every dream. Or, what I assume is the end. I've never gotten past her throwing up her hands and disappearing in a flash of light - along with the wolves." Sam was quiet for a moment, but his face seemed upset. Slowly he brought his left hand to his mouth and smoothed it over the morning stubble on his chin.

"She told you her name?"

"No. Um... No. It's just the name that I come up with when I think of her? Is it significant?"

"I'm starting to think you're psychic. Are you sure you're human?" he asked. Elanor nodded.

"Yeah," she said with a smile. "Pretty darn certain."

"Joanna was a friend of ours." Sam's eyes were still darkened. Grief, Elanor realized. "She, ah... she and her mom died to save Dean and I when we tried to kill Lucifer."

"Oh," Elanor murmured. "Sam, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked I just -"

"No, it's fine. It's fine I just," he paused. "It's weird that you dreamed it the way you did. Because. Elanor, she had been injured by a hell-hound. She died in an explosion to kill the hell-hounds."

"That's weird."

"You're telling me. Were you born in '83?" Sam asked. Elanor just shook her head.

"Why?"

"Nothing. Well, there was a demon running around bleeding on infants that year."

"You think I have demon blood?"

"No. Well, not really. I mean, some people naturally have visions, I guess."

"This is all so frustrating." They had finished with their food but before they could even clear away from the table Crowley appeared.

"You could wait for an invitation," said Sam, irritation lining his words.

"Or I could pop in and deliver messages from very important people. Well, I say messages - really it's that Cain has relocated and isn't being as secretive about it." Crowley looked to Elanor, then, and noted with a small grin that she wore the rosary. "You like it?"

"Of course," Elanor replied. "But where is Cain?"

"Closer to home. Infact, just a couple of states over."

"Well zap us to him?"

"Oh, no," Crowley said. "No, no. He's being watched, now. By Dean's people. I can't go anywhere near that place. But from what I hear they're under strict orders not to interfere with him at all. I figure you can waltz in and back out without an issue."

"So what's the address?" Sam asked. He was banking on Elanor's theories, and Crowley's intel. And when Crowley disappeared, after scribbling down directions, Elanor and Sam looked at one another.

"Well I feel the same way I did the first time. If this is the way then we don't have a choice." So they set off. They drove into North Dakota, through a ranch gate and far into the property before there was any sign of inhabitants. A small house, surrounded by trees and fading grass. Sam parked and Elanor slid out. She was unarmed.

"You should do most of the talking. And here," Sam said, he was offering her the angel blade. She shook her head. Sam insisted for a moment and she took the blade but made no move to approach the house.

"We're not attacking him," she said.

"It's not for him. You heard Crowley. This place is being watched. What if something decides to attack? I need you armed. Put it inside your coat."

"If I'm carrying it, I'm not hiding it," she said. "We need to look peaceful. We're not here for a fight." She led the way then, approaching the house cautiously, the blade just dangling from her fingers, rather than clenched for combat. She knocked and they waited, and then Sam knocked. Sam was ready to start canvassing the place when the door finally opened. And there stood Cain, in what appeared to be a home made shirt and ancient jeans.

"Elanor," Cain said, standing back to let them enter. He didn't look at Sam at first, focusing instead on the silvery blue of Elanor's eyes.

"Hi," she greeted him. He seemed to want to hug her, and she would have let him. "How have you been?"

"Thoughtful," Cain said. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Do you have that tea from before?" He smiled, moving toward his new kitchen.

"You don't need that, you know," Cain said. He was looking at the angel blade she held.

"Sorry," Sam said. "You're being watched."

"Don't you think I know that?" Cain replied. "Curious, though. An angel blade. I haven't seen one in many centuries. How did you come to possess it?" Elanor and Sam glanced at one another.

"How do you feel about angels?" Elanor asked instead. Cain laughed, a raw genuine sound that startled Elanor. She jerked.

"Are you protecting someone?" He laughed again, and Elanor squirmed a bit. "I have no opinion of angels anymore. I have a strong distaste for Lucifer - but as for his brothers... I have no opinion. They would never help me. Did you kill one for that blade?"

"Of course not!" Elanor gasped. Sam cleared his throat. "Oh, we... um, we came to see if you'd made a decision."

"For being cured?"

"Yes. And, well... We've thought about things more... and I have a new proposition..." Cain splayed his hands.

"Ask away," he commanded, sinking into a chair. Tea was steeping on the counter.

"I know... I have no right to ask you this," Elanor began. "But, well, we worry that Dean is still resistent to the concept of being cured. And, um..." Elanor glanced at Sam. She was nervous. "Well, I was thinking maybe... maybe if you took the mark back-"

"No," Cain said. Elanor nodded. But Sam wasn't satisfied.

"With your cooperation we could still attempt to cure you - and find a way to destroy the mark and free you from its curse." Cain seemed to be attempting to contain his ire.

"I'm already free from its curse," Cain told them simply.

"You're not, though," Elanor said softly. Cain looked at her, for the first time with anger. But she stiffened, raising her chin slightly. "You're not. The fact that you're still hunted is evidence of that. Even if you are otherwise immortal."

"I am no longer given to violence," Cain said. "Nor tempted toward it."

"But the legacy of the mark hangs over you."

"Then why would I take it back?"

"To give us a chance to get rid of it permanently."

"I don't see how this particularly concerns me. Being reverted to humanity is beneficial to me. This seems to be the opposite." Elanor leaned toward him, pleading.

"Then do it for the hope of regaining your humanity," she said. He glared openly at her.

"Are you trying to buy me?"

"No! No. If we can't get rid of it I'll take it myself," she said. "But no, that's not what I meant." She paused, glancing toward Sam's feet. "I fear Dean knows that I have to cure him."

"Why?"

She didn't answer. She didn't know how to phrase it delicately.

"He tortured her," Sam volunteered. "Probably would have killed her if I hadn't gotten there." Cain's face didn't show surprise or any other emotion. He seemed completely devoid of it for a moment.

"You were tortured?" Cain asked. Elanor nodded. Cain reached across the table, and touched Elanor's hand. They were calloused from hard labor, but still gentle. Now his eyes showed what Elanor thought was sympathy. But Elanor shook her head, disspelling the memory.

"It doesn't matter. In this, I don't matter."

"You matter," Sam said suddenly.

"That's not what I mean. I mean - I'm not the point here. This isn't about me." She looked back to Cain. "We need a trustworthy vessel for the mark," she told him softly.

"I'm trustworthy?"

"I believe so," she said. He seemed touched. He looked away, gazing beyond the window for a moment.

"I can't take it if he won't give it to me," Cain said. "No one can remove it against the bearer's will." Elanor nodded.

"So Dean has to be human... he has to be ready to let it go?" Cain nodded. "Does he have to be of sound mind?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if we do it the moment he's human again, if he's barely awake enough for it - will it work?" Cain nodded thoughtfully.

"If he can form the thought, he can pass it." Elanor looked up at Sam, Cain still watched her face.

"We can cure him," she said. Determination had forced its way in. She felt sure. Confident. "And when we cure him,will you take the mark?" Cain nodded.

"How can we contact you?"

"Summon me. You can't move me - but I'll hear the call." He stood. That meant it was time to go so Elanor rose to her feet as well. Sam moved back, to let Elanor lead the way but she glanced at him.

"Give me a minute," she said. Sam didn't move at first, glancing between Cain and Elanor. Wondering faintly if he had somehow bewitched her. "I'm fine, just a minute."

"More questions, Elanor?" She paused, waiting for Sam to step beyond the house.

"Why are you nice to me?" she asked. Cain smiled at her, amusement in his eyes.

"You remind me of someone I knew, once."

"The woman you thought I was at first?" Elanor pressed. Cain nodded.

"You're brave like she was - and kind hearted." Elanor blushed.

"Oh, well thankyou," she stammered. She turned to leave.

"Elanor," said Cain. She turned back to him. "Good luck." She nodded, following Sam's path out into the darkness. Crowley was right. They had gotten in and gotten out without an issue. She drove most of the way back, finding herself too tense to rest. Sam slept easily in the seat beside her, and she wondered if it was Dean who did most of the driving when it was just them.

She had the dream again when she slept in her bed but this time was different. She was running alongside the woman, hair streaming behind them and the howl of wolves beyond. She turned to look at her companion, and her companion smiled at her.

_Joanna_, Elanor spoke. And the woman smiled larger. This time the woman took her hand, and together they slowed - and the woman backed them through an overhanging of branches.

_I was wondering_, said the woman. _How long you would take. _But Elanor was confused. _Does Sam know you dream of me? _They had moved into a garden, a rose bush at the far end. Joanna moved languidly through mist, and Elanor followed. Though she was relaxed and felt safe, she was confused. Joanna sat on a bench and smiled sweetly. Elanor followed suit.

_I know who you are, now. You're dead. Why am I dreaming about you_? Elanor asked. Joanna shook her head, but before she could answer Elanor was awoken by her cell phone.

"Hullo?" she answered.

"Hey, Elanor." It was Sam. "I went for a supply run. Do you need anything?"

"I don't think so," she answered.

"Sorry. I guess I woke you. What do you want for breakfast?"

"Like eighteen donuts." He laughed.

"Really?"

"Three should do," she moderated.

"Sure you don't need anything for the house?"

"I think we're out of eggs," she said.

"Other than groceries? I did inventory before I left."

"I don't know, surprise me." She hung up, burying her face in her pillow. She wasn't particularly a morning person - though it strictly depended on whether or not she'd had enough sleep. When she checked the time, however, it made her wonder. It seemed as though when she had the Joanna dreams she didn't rest. Not really. She had done her workout and showered by the time Sam returned. She preferred working out when he wasn't around. She was private about certain things - whether it was necessary or not. She'd been practicing with her knife more, lately. Something she felt she had come close to mastering.

"Where are we on the blood thing?" she asked as they brought groceries into the kitchen.

"Today's the last day." They were a little behind schedule, he had insisted on giving her a reprieve following Dean's appearance.

"Can you tell me more about Joanna?"

"Did you dream about her again?" Elanor nodded. "I mean, I don't know. She was pretty nice, kind of no-nonsense like her mom. She was determined to be a hunter because her dad was a hunter."

"But, like, her personality?"

"Smart, thrifty," Sam said, thinking back. "Loyal and reliable. Tell me about the dream." She retraced the events of the dream, focusing on the muted dialogue.

"I mean, usually when you dream about talking you don't really remember the words. But I swear that was verbatum." Sam seemed thoughtful.

"You know angels can come to you in dreams," Sam said slowly.

"Can humans become angels?"

"I don't think so."

"Then...?" Elanor didn't see where he was going.

"Well... that means there's a chance you're somehow talking to her spirit."

"But why?" Elanor demanded. "Why would she talk to me and not you?" Sam shrugged. "I'm so sick of this," she added, letting the door to the fridge snap close. Sam watched as anger colored her face. But she composed herself just a moment later. "I'm really thankful that I can help you with Dean - but this whole mystery about whatever is important about me is getting really old."

"I understand."

"Do you?" she shot. She hadn't meant to be hostile. He just smiled, though.

"I really do. The reason I asked if you were born in '83? It's because I was born in '83."

"You're a demon baby?" she gasped.

"Something like that," Sam admitted. He waited for the concept to settle in her mind, but he underestimated her.

"Is it because you're Lucifer's vessel?"

"That's the theory," Sam admitted. She nodded.

"Once we cure Dean," Elanor said. "I'd like to find the demon that killed my parents."

"Why?"

"To ask it why," she answered. "Maybe it'll have an answer. How do you hunt a demon if you don't even know its name?"


	18. Chapter 18: Bright Light Girl

Chapter 18:

The preparation for the spells had begun, the other ingredients that needed replenishing were replinished. Everything was going according to plan - they had even found a milder summoning spell to use on Cain once they were ready to deliver the mark. Elanor thought it was wise not to seem pushy. They set to work finding a perfect church, and it was a Wednesday when Othniel reappeared. He called from outside of the bunker, and Elanor ran out to greet him, only to stick her head back inside and call for Sam.

Othniel was injured. Blood leaked freely from his vessel, and some of the wounds he wore glowed. He said he came to the bunker because the angels were too far away. So upon bringing him in and settling him in a chair, Sam called Castiel and asked how to tend to the medical needs of an angel. There wasn't much to do but wait. Othniel was strong, Castiel had assured Sam. He would heal. Othniel didn't sleep but he rested, and Elanor never left his side.

They spoke in low tones, and Sam mostly stayed out of their path. Othniel had a marked dislike for the man.

"Where have you been?" Elanor asked. "Who did this to you?"

"It is safer that you do not know," Othniel said. "But my mission is to find an entrance to heaven. I suspect, now, that purgatory may be our primary hope. How have you been? Are you safe here?" Elanor started to say yes, but there was a moment's hesitation. She had been tortured just a few feet from where they sat now, afterall. But Othniel didn't notice her indecision. And then someone else spoke.

"Songbird!" It was Crowley. Elanor jumped to her feet, but he was rounding the corner and couldn't see them yet. "You didn't tell me Dean had visited you!"

"Who is that?" Othniel asked. Now Crowley found himself face to face with a newly healed angel.

"Sam!" Elanor called.

"Demon!" Othniel roared. He started forward, physically bristling at the slight.

"Wait!" Elanor squeaked, throwing an arm up and bracing herself between them. "Wait!"

"I guess I should go," Crowley said. He had a subtle smile on his lips. Elanor would have called it sarcastic if she'd been in the mood to assess it. Sam entered the room.

"What do- Oh." Sam fell silent.

"What is this atrocity doing here?" Othniel asked. It was directed at Sam as much as it was at Elanor. His voiced had lowered considerably. Now it came out even and deep. A lethal tone for the angel. Elanor had heard it only once before. And since neither of them answered, Crowley took the opportunity.

"Hi, Crowley. King of Hell. I'm helping them bring Sam's brother back from demonhood."

"Demonhood?" Othniel inquired. "You associate with demons, Elanor?"

"Kinda?" Elanor offered.

"Through Sam, I surmise," Othniel continued, and leveled a stare at the tall human. Othniel reached out, preparing to dispatch Crowley, who of course disappeared at the gesture. Othniel whirled, expecting the demon to appear behind him. He tugged Elanor closer to him but she was shaking her head.

"He's not a threat to me," she said.

"Why are you being so risky? Do you trust demons now?"

"Of course not," Elanor said. "But... Othniel, I need to explain something to you."

"Should I be here or what?" Sam asked.

"You should remain," Othniel stated. Elanor sighed. Now was as good a time as any.

"Othniel... Dean is Sam's brother. He was turned into a demon on the path to destroying a knight of hell, and in an attempt to kill Metatron. This was just before we came to see the angels, and I came to stay here. Since then Sam and I have been trying to find a way to cure him."

"You cannot cure a demon," Othniel said.

"You can," Sam corrected, earning an angelic glare.

"You can," Elanor assured him. "And one of the reasons I've been so involved is because it seems - and even Castiel thinks this - that I'm part of the key to curing Dean."

"Castiel..." Othniel was feeling betrayed, Elanor reached for his hand.

"I just didn't want you to worry," she assured him. Othniel was livid, however, and quickly coming to a boil.

"First the run-in with the human. Then the vampires. And now I discover you in close quarters with a demon?" Othniel demanded. "It's enough that I allow you to remain in the custody of the vessel of Lucifer -" Sam balked. Before remembering it was an angel, and probably all angels knew. "But to be working directly with demons?" He had stood again, towering over Elanor. It wasn't his intention, usually quite ignorant of his human form. But if he had been human it would have been a case of using his size to intimidate Elanor. Sam stiffened.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to her," Sam said.

"What did that demon mean by saying Dean had visited?" Othniel asked. He seemed close to shouting again. "What did it mean?!"

"He payed me a visit," Elanor said. But she didn't meet his eye. She was not a very skilled liar. Othniel waited. "He..." She didn't finish the sentence.

"He tortured you, didn't he?" Othniel asked. He moved then, toward Sam - bracing the human against the wall. Sam struggled, and though physically matched, Othniel's grace overpowered Sam's humanity. "Is this what you consider to be keeping her safe?" And then another thought occured to him. "Who healed her?"

"Castiel," Elanor answered. She was tugging on his arms, her small hands clamped onto the one that pressed Sam's neck against the concrete wall.

"Why didn't you call on me?"

"He said he would kill you." Othniel released Sam at those word, turning to his charge. He seemed suddenly sad.

"You would have been rescued," Othniel said. "Don't you see that you are more important than we are?"

"No," Elanor answered. "I don't. And neither do you."

"I do," Othniel corrected.

"No, you don't. Not really. You feel it - some ingrained responsibility but you don't know why. That's why I speak to the king of hell!" She cast her eyes away, seeking understanding. "He also knows there's something up about me but he doesn't know what. He's the one who figured out I can't be possessed."

"You've been possessed? You allowed her to become possessed?" Again Othniel rounded on Sam. Sam was feeling a bit like a child between fighting parents, or the outsider to a spatting couple. He didn't know whether or not to actually involve himself. But he didn't want to leave Elanor to Othniel's angry tirade. He just raised his hands, splayed in a nonthreatening effort of defense.

"He didn't allow anything. It just happened," she said. "But good news, I can kick a demon out of my body." She was becoming irritated herself, though she was trying to keep her temper steady.

"We must return to hiding," Othniel said. He put a hand on her arm but she pulled away.

"No," she told him.

"I have to keep you safe."

"I'm not going from motel to motel anymore," she told him. "I'm not doing it. And what about heaven? And I'm not abandoning Sam on this, either!"

"But Elanor," Othniel began.

"No! There's too much to be done. Whatever importance I hold isn't doing anyone any good unless I'm doing something good. Why bother protecting me? Maybe this is why you rescued me last year. Maybe this is the reason!" Othniel paused.

"I do not feel as though this is the case," Othniel reasoned. But Elanor shook her head.

"Maybe it's not. But... Othniel, don't you get it? I can't live like that. And now I'm invested in this. I'm not leaving it behind!" Now Sam chose to leave the room. He trusted that Othniel respected Elanor's free will. He mused over it as he returned to his bedroom to wait out the argument.

"Elanor do you not understand? You are my primary motive for living now."

"What?" She blanched slightly. "But the angels."

"Yes, the angels. But, perhaps selfishly, I want heaven restored to us so that I am stronger and better able to watch over you. I agonize because I cannot fly to your side." She stepped to her angel, then, and hugged him around the waist.

"I care about you, too," she mumbled. "I love you Othniel. I'm sorry."

"Good," he replied. He had no knowledge of the emotion love - except for the outstanding grace of his Father. Which was in fact more of a concept for him than an actual emotion. But it seemed quite similar for his regard toward this human. "I love you too, I think."

"But I still can't give up on this. I have to help Sam."

"Do you love him as well?" And Elanor knew it wasn't a sentence fueled by competition as it might have been if pitched to her by a man.

"I do," she said. And it was true. She had grown to love Sam. And she was dedicated to the cause of redeeming his brother.

"Then I cannot disrupt you. But Elanor... demons?"

"I'll stop hanging out with demons."

"You spend leisure time with them?" he demanded.

"I was kidding. No," she assured him. Her face was still pressed to his chest, and the scent of his vessel was a comfort she hadn't realized she had missed. "I really do care about you."

"I wish to speak with Sam privately before I go," Othniel said.

"Why?" Elanor chirped, leaning back to look at his face. Of course it revealed none of his intentions.

"Just to speak. I wish to ensure he has your best interest in mind, as well."

"Sam's primary motivation is Dean," said Elanor.

"And your safety should be just as vital to him." Elanor shrugged, and watched Othniel walk down the hallway. She sat at the table, fidgeting and resisting the urge to follow after him. Othniel did not knock on the door, but pushed it open.

"Oh - Othniel!" exclaimed Sam. He sat at the head of his bed, reading something paperbacked.

"I wish to speak with you."

"Of course," Sam said, gesturing for the angel to sit. Othniel didn't notice or didn't understand.

"Elanor has explained to me her investment in redeeming your brother," Othniel said. "Though I do not entirely understand how a demon can still be your brother, I do not assume to understand the ways of man. However, I gather that she is necessary in the process whether she would want to be or not. I need to know... that she is here of her own accord."

"Of course she is," Sam said. He stared in confusion at the angel. "I'm not keeping her here against her will."

"She is free to go if she chooses?"

"Yeah. Of course!"

"Another question... do you care about her? Do you love her?" Sam hesitated just a moment. It was a facet of emotion he had not examined when it came to Elanor.

"I care a lot about Elanor. And, yes, I guess I do love her. Like a friend or a sister," Sam said slowly. He didn't want the angel thinking Sam was trying anything suspicious. Not that it would have been suspicious, Sam assured himself.

"She loves you as well," Othniel said frankly, unaware of the potential implications of his statement. "She is dedicated. So, I suggest a contract of sorts."

"Contract? What, an angel deal?"

"What is that?"

"Nothing. Contract?"

"I will not interfere with her participation in this endeavor, however foolish I find it to be, if you will promise to keep her safe. Do not let her fall victim to any other creature or situation - do not let her fall victim to your brother again. Keep her safe," Othniel pressed. He stepped closer to Sam - this time intentionally portraying a physical threat. Sam set his jaw but otherwise didn't react. "Let no harm come to her."

"I'll protect her with my life," Sam assured the angel. Othniel did not look comforted, but he seemed satisfied. He left the room without another word. After mumbled goodbyes and the promise of keeping well in touch, Elanor watched Othniel leave - marching to his car and driving away. Sam emerged again as Elanor closed the door to the bunker. Elanor blew out a breath, the tension had never quite eased.

"What did he want from you?"

"Nothing really," Sam said. "He wanted to be sure I'd keep you safe." Elanor nodded, glancing behind her.

"Yeah, that seems to be his main concern." The next couple of days were spent in preparation, Sam took her over the ritual, teaching her the latin and musing if they should perform it in enochian or hebrew, instead. But they stuck to what would most likely work. Elanor continued to dream of Joanna, sometimes they attempted to speak but Elanor never got answers. The morning before they were supposed to summon Dean, Elanor dreamt of Jo again.

The beginning of the dream had changed - she started in the garden this time thought could still hear the howls beyond. Joanna wore jeans, and Elanor wore her nightgown. Her hair was cropped short which was strange to her, even in the dream.

_Hello Elanor_, Jo said, as Elanor felt over the curls floating about her neck.

_Hi_, Elanor responded. She moved closer to the girl she had somehow come to regard as a friend. _Joanna, Are you really who you say you are?_

_I am_, Joanna assured her. _But call me Jo. I'm going to come find you soon._

_Why?_

Because you need me. Because I have to.

Why do you have to?

_Because you need me_, the blonde repeated. She smiled, reaching for Elanor's hand. She clasped it between hers, feminine yet firm.

_But why do I need you?_

I have to keep you safe. You have to survive until you can help them.

Who is them? The Winchesters?

Joanna nodded, and the fog began to climb higher around them.

_Do you remember when you were sixteen and Gregory Mason broke your heart? _Elanor just nodded. _If I had been there_, Jo assured her, _I would have kicked his ass_.

_Are you a ghost? _Elanor asked.

_No. I'm... I might be a spirit. I don't think there's a word. I'm still a human soul._

_How do you know about Gregory Mason?_

I know a lot about you.

Elanor couldn't see her face anymore, and was losing grip on her hand.

_I have more questions! _Elanor called. _Wait!_

_I'll see you soon_, Jo's voice echoed.

Elanor came to with a shiver. It was cold in the bunker. It was the second week of November, and Elanor took a long shower before coming out to find Sam packing for the trip.

"I want you to rest as much as possible," Sam said. "This is going to be really hard on you." Elanor nodded, but Sam looked at her. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"I think I am," Elanor replied. "As ready as I'll ever be, anyway."

"It's just... I had a really hard time. And..."

"And you're stronger than me, I know. But you had already been doing the trials when you almost cured Crowley. You did okay last time, despite glowing. I think it'll be okay. I think I'll be okay."

"We're going to stop in for snacks and stuff. Protein bars. It bothers me that you seem to have a weak constitution to begin with."

"Yeah but... I feel fine right now. And I'm a girl. I'm used to working through pain." He seemed confused for a moment, but then turned away. "I fight through migraines most days. Let's just be happy I'm clear and chipper today." Sam nodded.

"But you know once we start... if we stop we have to start over."

"I know. Did you get in touch with Castiel?"

"I left a message. I gave him the address. If he wants to come, if he can, he will." Elanor nodded.

"I dreamed about Jo again."

"Jo?" Elanor shrugged.

"That's what she told me to call her."

"Huh." Sam had a small crooked smile on his lips.

"What?" Elanor asked.

"Nothing. We should focus on this later." Elanor nodded. Today and tonight were about Dean. They departed, outlining the plan and figuring out the kinks and their obvious vulnerabilities.

"Do you think he'll bring the blade this time?" Elanor asked. Sam pondered as he drove.

"I think he might. He tried to scare you last time - but I'm surprised he didn't kill you. I think he'll probably come very prepared. We'll have to ward for hounds," Sam said. It was good they left the bunker so early, the prep work around the outside of the church was extensive, though Sam insisted on doing the majority of the work.

"Should I confess now or after we pin him down?"

"Go ahead," Sam said with a wave. He wasn't sure how she felt about it - but it was always difficult for him. "Do it now. So we don't have to wait after we catch him." Elanor nodded, entering the church. As Sam finished the boundary lines - to stave off demons and hellhounds alike - he went in, setting to work on the two devils traps they would lay. Dean was intelligent, and a quick learned. Sam knew there was a chance he could dodge the traps, like Crowley sometimes managed to. He overheard her.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It's been, ah, six years since my last confession." She paused and Sam found himself overwhelmed with curiosity. "In these past years I have sinned in many ways... but the most grievous of my crimes must be abandoning my family." She paused, quelling the catch in her throat. "I tell myself it's for their safety, but this justification may not mean anything. I don't know if they're safer without me and I can't check on them. I have lied, cheated and stolen but it is wreckless and the only crime for which I need absolution." She wasn't sure how it worked without a priest beside her - so she was praying as best as she could directly to God. Sam moved away, feeling hot under the collar. An invasion of privacy he wasn't proud of.

She emerged not long after this and they set to work, finishing Sam's preparations. Her blood was painted on the floor, and the rest of the supplies were either left in the car or stowed in the confessional. Sam began to burn the angelic feather and dropped it into the holy oil - setting the summoning spell aflame. And Dean appeared, but not, as Sam had somehow predicted, within the circle. He stood just on the edge. Sam shot at Dean quickly - the demon bullet binding him at least for a moment.

The fight was a quick and uneven struggle.

"Sammy, I told you to leave me alone!"

"Sorry," Sam said through the physical effort. He and Dean were locked in arms and to Elanor's horror Dean produced the blade.

"Sam, get back!" she shouted. Sam leapt away as Dean swung the blade. It caught Sam high on his fore-arm though it looked shallow.

"Normally," Dean said. "I'd pull this bullet out and be gone." Dean plunged a finger into his shoulder, pulling out the bullet. "But I think it's time to finish this game."

"Game?" Elanor pressed. Her mind was working rapidly. How to contain him? How to trap him? She backed out of the room, running toward the equal demon trap in the anteroom. Dean followed - and Sam made to attack Dean but was thrown backwards. As Elanor turned, willing Dean to step into the trap, backing toward the wall she realized he was edging the line, carefully avoiding it. Sam rushed in, haphazardly attempting to push Dean into the trap - but Dean shrugged him off easily so Sam did the only thing he could think of, fearing this mistake would lead to Elanor's death. He dragged her away, back into the temple itself. And Dean followed calmly, the blade clenched in his hand. Sam raised his gun to fire again but it was easily flicked away.

Elanor thought she heard a wolf's cry but couldn't focus on it. Dean stepped nearer to them.

"I'm going to kill her," Dean said simply. That hard edge remained. "I hope you've had fun with her."

"You don't hurt her," Sam commanded.

"I already have. How'd you heal up, by the way?"

"Just fine," Elanor jested. She wanted to rock his focus but he remained calm and threatening.


End file.
